House of Cards
by Ce'Nelenia
Summary: AU, with echoes of canon. Rick Castle's world is falling apart around his ears. This is his journey of hope, healing, and new life, as he - and others - learn how to make their lives more than a House of Cards…
1. Chapter 1: Tumbling Down

**Disclaimer: **This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe upon copyrights held by Andrew Marlowe, ABC, Beacon Pictures, or any other lawful holder.

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**Chapter 1: Tumbling Down **

He sits on the train, watching the scenery pass by, the rolls of hay on farm fields, cars stopped by the tracks, and small shrubs by each plot of land, then tall buildings, soaring skyscrapers, and a thick grey smog over the city, present even as the sun sets in the distance, far away from the bright lights of the famous New York night scene.

He has arrived, though for a fleeting moment, he wishes he is anywhere but here.

As much as he loves New York City, he had appreciated the sense of anonymity in a small town in the middle of nowhere, where no one knows who he is or what his past entailed.

An idyllic dream, but reality is here, in the midst of hordes of people, flashes of paparazzi cameras, and endless noise. This is the life he has chosen for himself, after all.

Grudgingly he picks up his bags, and walks off the train and out of the station. Hailing a cab, he quickly makes a call to his wife.

He only reaches voicemail. Sighing, he mumbles a quick apology and perfunctory love, and steps into the cab.

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He steps gingerly into the – his – apartment, careful not to make any noise. He has no wish to wake Meredith; hell hath no fury like a woman scorned – though, perhaps he is the one who has been scorned.

He chuckles – perhaps that would be the title of the present manuscript he had in his briefcase.

"Something funny, Rick?" It is only at the sound of Meredith's voice Richard Castle realizes that his wife had been waiting up for him in the living room, scantily dressed. Inwardly he groans, but his external physicality has different ideas.

"I'm waiting, Ricky," Meredith crosses her arms. "You told me you would be back by eight. It's half past midnight."

Oh, how fickle he is: simultaneously enjoying her façade and disliking her actions at the same time. She is not serious; in fact, this is but one of her fantasies – jealous wife and cheating husband – not that she needs scenarios to engage in her favourite activity.

How he despises her for reducing him to a sex machine. But oh, how good it felt, until the guilt creeps in again.

"What are you doing, Meredith?" he asks tiredly. "Alexis is asleep –"

She waves dismissively. "She's with your mother."

He knows this already; he hadn't expected her to last two days with the toddler – yet there is still a lingering feeling of disappointment. Though, when all is said and done, his mother is, though not entirely put-together, the better option.

"I'm too tired for this –" Castle weakly protests, dropping his briefcase to the ground, his resolve already weakening as she saunters over to him.

But for once, his spine holds up. "No, Meredith, I've had an exhausting trip, and I really need sleep if I'm to face Gina tomorrow morning."

The next morning Meredith is gone.

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"Mother, she's gone," Rick says tiredly into his phone. He had stumbled out of their guest room to see Meredith had stripped their bedroom entirely of her things – and a few of his besides. On their – his – bare bed lay a stack of papers. Instinctively he knows she has filed for divorce.

_Rick, _  
_We had a fun time, didn't we? I'm off to Malibu, with Jeremy. You can have Alexis._

_Meredith_

"She left me a note. And the divorce papers," he rubs his eyes resignedly. "How am I going to tell Alexis?"

"Oh, Richard," his mother sighs. "I told you she was no good for you."

"Yes, Mother, and now it's over," he replies testily. "I'll come pick Alexis up after my meeting with Gina."

"All right, dear," his mother says airily. "You know where I am."

His meeting with his agent, Gina Cowell, is short. She can sense a different air about him and does not even lecture him on his public image – for once. She does say one thing, though, uncharacteristically. "Rick, I'm here for you if you need me."

Her words haunt him as he goes to pick up his little girl from his mother's apartment. At three, her blue eyes are all his, and her red hair _hers_. Yet, when he looks down at _their _combined production, all he can feel is a deep swelling of his heart, of love spilling out beyond what he can imagine – for the little girl who will grow up all right, he promises fiercely.

He knocks.

"Richard, darling." His mother is a welcome hurricane in his already chaotic state of mind. She looks at him with sympathy, though he knows she feels a sense of justification in his current circumstance. "How _are _you doing, Richard?"

He shrugs. "Relieved, I think. She was too much for me." He can't resist; "Much like you, Mother."

She sputters. "Really, Richard." He is saved by the ringing telephone.

"Martha Rogers, speaking." His mother picks up the phone, and Rick goes out in search of his daughter. His beautiful, precocious, and _all-his_daughter, she sits quietly in her playpen. When she sees her father, her face breaks into a smile, and lifts her hands up to him. "Papa!"

He lifts her out of the playpen, and buries his face in her curls. "Alexis…"

"Papa?" she asks inquisitively. "'Scaring me…"

"Sorry, baby." He needs to know she is real, that his brief marriage to her mother has at least one good result. That he hasn't just wasted the last three years of his life on a flighty twit only interested in sex.

And then she asks the question he isn't sure how to answer, her big blue eyes wide and innocent; "Where's Momma?"

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She hasn't stopped crying since he told her.

Had it been the right choice?

He has tried hard to not pass judgement on Meredith – Alexis deserves to hear all of the truth, not just his side, though his side seems most true at the moment – but it's clear he's not ready to speak about his soon-to-be-ex-wife without any bitterness clouding the timbre of his voice.

Nor is he expected to.

He stays home every night, pushing Gina off about his book tours and signing; his world is Alexis. He moves out of his apartment – he wants every reminder that Meredith was ever in his life gone, and into a loft where he rebuilds his life.

His mother moves in with him.

Everything about this decision chafes at him: he's a grown-up and he can take care of himself. Eventually he concedes Alexis needs a female presence in his life, and as he has no romantic prospects at the moment – if ever; why not his mother?

He's the perfect father – for about three months. Then begins the parties and endless romps, in an effort to forget about Meredith and Gina's doe-eyes and his single-parent status, and the ever burning question of _Why wasn't I enough?__._

"Richard, I'm going out tonight. You will have to find someone else to take care of Alexis while we're both out." And then his mother is out to her parties, and Rick knows he'll have to stay in tonight. There isn't any way he'd be able to find a babysitter on such short notice. He resigns himself to a long night, alone, again.

He smiles at his daughter who toddles around the play area he's cordoned off in their living room. He feels slightly guilty over leaving his daughter with her babysitter, night after night, yet Alexis still shows nothing less than glowing approval for her father. Quietly, he resolves to keep her with him tomorrow, and take her to the park.

_Father-daughter time would be good_, he decides. _Just Alexis and me for the day, with ice cream._ Though perhaps the ice cream is more for him than for her. He smiles again. Perhaps there will be a better day.

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**Author's Note:** Fully intending on this to be a multi-chapter fic, but I need a beta! Also, let me know what you think in the review box below: liked, disliked, grammatical errors, etc. Cheers, Ce'Nelenia


	2. Chapter 2: The Spaces in Between

**A/N**: See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Un-beta'd.

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**Chapter 2: The Spaces in Between**

Rick is true to his resolutions.

Alexis looks at him in wonder when he tells her she won't have to go to nursery today, that they will be going to the park instead. She doesn't even protest when he feeds her chocolate pancakes, unlike her usual self; she is far too excited to chide her father about what she has learned about healthy eating.

"Papa, c'mon!" Alexis races around the loft. Anyone else would cringe at the three year old on a sugar rush, but this only made Rick grin, truly happy for the first time since, well, since he and Meredith had fallen apart, three years ago.

"Coming!" he responds, and lifting the little girl onto his shoulders, he locks the door behind him.

He chooses not to go to the park near his house, but to the other side of the city, on a whim. They take the subway, and Alexis is fascinated with the speed of the subway car, pressing her button nose to the glass. When finally they arrive, his daughter has not lost any energy at all; instead, her excitement at seeing a brand new park only increased.

"Papa, swings!"

"Yes, Alexis, swings!" A mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes. "First one to the swings gets to pick the ice cream!" He makes sure to stay behind her, watching her carefully.

Apparently not carefully enough, as she collides into an older woman carrying a stack of papers. While she does not knock the older woman over, Alexis herself falls down and manages to smack the ground loudly, and immediately begins crying.

Rick immediately rushes to his little girl, but the older woman has already picked Alexis up and placed her on a nearby bench. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

Taking out a handkerchief out of her purse, she began wiping the dirt off of Alexis's hands. "There, there..."

"Alexis, are you all right?" Rick smudges the tears from his daughter's eyes, and lifts her into his arms. Turning to the woman, "I'm sorry. I wasn't watching her closely enough."

She shakes her head. "No harm done. Let children be children." Extending her hand, she continues, "I'm Johanna Beckett."

Shaking it, Rick replies, "Richard Castle, and this little one is Alexis."

Abruptly, Johanna begins laughing, so hard so that she herself has to sit down. Puzzled, Rick sits down next to her. Even Alexis stops crying to look curiously at this well-dressed lady who seems to have lost her mind.

"You see," Johanna struggles to explain. "I thought you looked familiar." She took a deep breath before smiling at him. "I should've recognized you. See, you're one of my favourite authors." She chuckles. "But after this, I'm not really sure I can call myself a 'good' fan anymore."

Rick can't help but chuckle himself. "Well, I'm glad. It means I'm doing a good job of disguising myself." Joking, he adds, "I'm glad you're not one of those deranged fans I get who badger me all the time."

"No, nothing of the sort. You see, I don't often have much time, and what little time I do have is spent either with my family or with your books...today's been an exception. I just finished one of my cases, and my daughter is about to come home from college. I wandered over here to reminisce." Her eyes grew misty. "Treasure the time you have with your daughter, Richard. They grow up too fast."

"It's true. It only seems like yesterday I was holding her for the first time," he agrees. Alexis pulls at him, indicating her restlessness.

"It looks like your little one wants ice cream," Johanna observes, as the chiming of the ice cream truck comes closer. "Why don't I go get us all ice cream?"

"You don't have to do that," Rick protests.

Johanna dismisses his objections. "How often do I get to interact with an adorable child and my favourite author?" She tickles Alexis's chin, and Alexis giggles, already liking this woman. "Is anyone allergic to anything? Have any favourite flavours?"

"Chocolate for both of us is fine," Rick responds, and Alexis nods her head emphatically in assent.

When Johanna returns, he notices she has a flavour he has never seen before. Curious, he asks her what it is.

"Candy cane flavour," she replies. "Christmas in June, don't you know."

"Tha' must be dewicious!" exclaims Alexis with her mouth full; swallowing, she continues excitedly, "Papa, can I get that next time?"

"I think I'll get that next time too, 'Lex," Rick answers. "But this is delicious as well. Thank you, Johanna." Alexis echoes her thanks, and Johanna smiles in response.

As Alexis runs off to the playground to join the other children, Rick asks, "So, what exactly is it you do? You mentioned cases?"

"Oh, yes, I'm a lawyer." Johanna takes her glasses off and places them in her case. "A civil rights attorney, to be exact. My husband, Jim, and I run a firm together. Oh, let me give you my business card."

Taking the card, Rick tucks the card into his cards case. "A crusader, then?"

Johanna reddens. "I suppose you could say that. But really, I'm someone who just cares enough about the truth to make it known."

"We need more people like you," Rick says. "In my line of work...well, you know. I interact with every side of the story, and I've noticed our world is much more likely to cater to the grey and the black than to the white."

"Which is precisely why I enjoy your books so much, Richard." Johanna looks him straight in the eye. "I appreciate your world-building, the nuances of what it means to be seeking after truth in a world of half-lies, falsehoods, and deceit. I suppose I'm just cynical."She chuckles. "And your main characters are as deep as your settings, where they struggle with the same things everyone else does while still managing to come out on top, sometimes at a cost. Human, I suppose you could say. I like that."

Rick blushes. "...thank you. That's more than I've heard in a while." He shrugs. "It's mostly been about money with my publishers, and fans are more likely to comment on my looks than on my writing."

"Just my honest opinion." They lapse into comfortable silence, both watching Alexis playing in the sand.

Abruptly, Rick says, "Would you like to read some of my newer work?"

"Now?" Johanna looks up, surprised.

"Well, no," Rick admits, "I don't have it on me. But it seems your experience would lend a helpful eye over my latest manuscript."

"I'd be honoured – "

"Of course, there'd be forms you'd have to sign; confidentiality, you understand," Rick rushes all in one breath. For an odd reason, he really wants this older woman to vet his work; he feels a connection with her, like kindred souls fascinated with the evils of society, one passively observing, the other aggressively fighting.

She smiles in response. "Of course, Richard." Nodding towards his cards case, she says, "You have my number. Just let me know when you'd like to meet up." She glances at her watch. "Oh, dear. I should get going. Katie – my daughter – will be home at any moment, and I have a pie baking."

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Johanna."

"You as well, Richard." Waving to Alexis, she shouts (lady-like, if that is possible), "Goodbye, Alexis!"

Alexis waves back, a grin brightening her face.

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By the time they finish their hot dogs, Alexis is already starting to fall asleep. Rick quickly calls a cab, and they head home.

Tucking her gently into bed, Rick closes the door, and walks gingerly to his office. He takes Johanna Beckett's card, and is surprised to see she has left him her home number as well. He has long debated writing about the law system, but has little to no experience in that area of the law, as funny as that sounds. If nothing, she is another resource for another idea for a later date. The priority for the moment is _Hell Hath No Fury_, and if he is honest with himself, this is one of his worst novels to date. He knows why; he had written it in a dark place in his life. No, he doesn't want Johanna seeing this. He'd much rather have her see the very rough draft of his yet unnamed novel, whose protagonist is more badass than _Hell_'s Adam Parel: Derek Storm, a CIA agent.

He picks up the phone and calls Gina. "Hi Gina, how are you? Listen, _Hell Have No Fury_ is ready. I can come by tomorrow and drop it off. Oh, and I may have a new storyline for you..."

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**A/N**: I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter. I have written up to Chapter 4, and am now currently on Chapter 5. I can promise you it won't be all angst, but this is where we'll be sitting for the next few chapters. I'm looking at the final product at being around 20-30 chapters, so we still have a while yet until the journey's over. I'm also still trying to find a beta - if you think you're up to the task, please send me a PM. Let me know what you thought of this chapter - would love to know what you enjoyed, disliked, would like more of, where tenses went awry, etc. (See the box below?) Cheers, Ce'Nelenia


	3. Chapter 3: Raise

**A/N: See Disclaimer in Chapter 1.**

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**Chapter 3: Raise**

"Gina," Rick greets genially, rising from his seat at the table. He holds out her chair, seating her before taking a seat himself.

"Rick," Gina looks at him with genuine concern in her eyes, and reaching across the table, places her hand on his. "How're you doing?"

"Actually?"

Gina nods.

"As well as I can be," Rick replies, his face darkening. "I don't know..._you_ know how Meredith and I were. Never a kind word between the two of us. I thought once she left our lives once and for all, I'd feel...released." He shrugs. "Instead, all I feel is that I've wasted these past three years of my life." He swirls his glass of wine, deep in thought. "And…Alexis cries herself to sleep every night, except on the days I go out with her and then she's too exhausted to do anything but sleep. But then, I'm exhausted too, and, well, you know how it is." Gina had just recently divorced her husband, and he had been one of those few who had been allowed in to pick up the pieces.

Gina squeezes his hand. "You know, it's all right to take a break..."

Rick shakes his head. "No, I need to get back into the thick of things. Or else I'll just lose myself and I'll never get back on my feet." It is only then that Gina sees how tired her friend is, his eyes almost haunted.

"Rick..."

"Gina," he retorts, inordinately short with her. Reaching down, he lifts a large stack of paper. "Here you go, _Hell_."

"It's quite apt a name," Gina observes, trying to make Rick smile. "I'll take a look and get back to you. But if all goes well, it should be on the shelves fairly soon."

Rick shrugs. "It's not my best work, I have to say. Meredith took a toll on my writing far more than I care to admit."

"I was thinking to myself, I need something _fun_ again. Something that won't drain me like the others have. And, here's my idea..."

Gina gives up on trying to cheer Rick up; it seems as if he's doing it all on his own, in this moment. The passion for his books in his eyes as he describes his latest idea over a meal of steak and wine is enough to awake the feelings that she has for him.

She realizes he has paused, for her thoughts. Gathering them, she said, just short of awkwardly, "I like it."

And that was the only thing he needed to hear, for, the next moment, his face broke into a large grin, one of which the likes of hadn't been seen since she had told him that Black Pawn had agreed to publish his first book.

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They're both hurting, from people who care more about their careers than them, Rick thinks to himself as he gazes down at Gina, who is asleep on him in his bed. And he does hold a certain fondness for her, though he isn't sure he can call it love. He isn't sure if he can ever love again.

His mother doesn't approve. "Richard...do what you want, but I can't see this ending well, either." And then his mother is off on her tour around the world, right after his and Gina's wedding.

Alexis is apprehensive. She knows Gina isn't her mom, and doesn't understand why this person is taking her father away from her. And she definitely doesn't understand why Grams has to leave.

Rick, for the most part, is oblivious, in the beginning. As soon as his divorce from Meredith is approved, he proposes to Gina, who accepts.

Their honeymoon is short; mostly it is the haunting gaze of his child, with her lip quivering, standing next to her babysitter as he leaves his loft, that gets to him, which in turn means that they are away for two weeks instead of the planned-for five. He feels guilty about not spending time with Alexis. Her petulance, her temper tantrums only serve to reinforce that he has been a bad father, one who cares more for himself than for his daughter. And so he spirals.

Gina, of course, is not happy; it is clear that Rick feels that his daughter should come first in his life, at a cost to his own happiness, she thinks.

He takes his daughter to that same park again, in an effort to rekindle the affection between the two of them. He reasons that the park should be as fun as it is with snow as it is in the spring, when they were last there. It is then that he remembers Johanna Beckett (who he has extensively web searched and police-checked, after meeting her, coming away impressed with the woman he had met). On an impulse, he reaches for her card, and dials the number.

It's been less than half a year, he reasons. She would remember him, surely. And besides, he scoffs at himself, he _is_ her favourite author.

After the third ring, someone picks up. "Hello?"

"May I speak to Johanna Beckett, please?" Luck was with him, she was at her house.

"It's Richard Castle, Johanna," he speaks quickly into the phone. "Do you remember me from the park a while ago?"

There is a pause. "Of course, Richard. You and Alexis."

"Well..." He needs someone who can tell him he's on the right track, unlike Gina, who has had nothing but scorn for him since their fight. "I was wondering if you had time any time soon to read my latest draft. I'm starting a new series, see, and my editor...well, we're not getting along at the moment, you can say."

There is a knowing hum on the other end of the line, though this woman has only met him once. "Well, I'm free right now. You can come over, you and Alexis, I'm assuming."

"Great."

Johanna quickly gives them her address, and added, "You'd best let Alexis know there's pumpkin pie and ice cream."

And it is with that last comment that Rick is saved from yet another temper tantrum.

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"Come in, come in!" Johanna greets the two of them with exuberance. Rick notices almost immediately how Christmas-y the Becketts' house is, and thinks with shame about his own bare loft. Alexis is, of course, caught in the web of delight in all things shiny; her eyes widened, and her exclamation of "_Look, Papa, look how _big_ the tree is!_" has him thinking his family needs Christmas traditions, too.

Johanna has brought down some of her daughter's old toys for Alexis, and while she plays in the living room, with both Rick and Johanna keeping a mindful eye, the two of them sit in the kitchen, one nursing a cup of coffee, the other, hot chocolate.

"My daughter and husband are out at the moment, no doubt purchasing a gift for me last minute," laughs Johanna, and sips her coffee with a content sigh. "How have you been, Richard? I hear from the news you are recently married?"

Rick almost choked. Instead, he settled for a half-smile, half-grimace. "Yes, Gina."

Johanna eyes him for a moment, then, wrapping her fingers around her mug, says, "Well, I would offer my congratulations, but I see things aren't going well for the two of you?"

He sighs. "You could say that. We've had nothing but fights lately. I even forgot it's almost Christmas. I _never _forget it's Christmas." He pauses, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. "It's Alexis. I don't know how to balance a wife and a kid. And they don't seem to be getting along. And my mother left, which might be a relief, seeing as she's been telling me nothing but 'I-told-you-so's for the last bit." He shrugs. "I don't feel like I'm actually living life, these days." Pausing again, he lets out a cynical chuckle. "I also don't know why I'm telling you all of these things."

Johanna smiles sadly at him. "I won't tell a soul, don't you worry. Well, let's forget about the awful things for a moment, and why don't you show me this new idea that's got you all excited."

They pour over the draft, and Johanna's critique of his writing style, syntax, and even law advice has him feeling happy despite the overwhelming cloud hanging in the back of his mind. Finally, they take a break; she turns to him, saying, "Richard, this may be the best I've seen from you yet. In fact, this is..." she flings her hands open, beaming, "So good."

Rick grins back. "I thought so. Final draft is supposed to go to Gina in a bit, and the timeline looks like it'll be out next summer, if not earlier."

"I'm looking forward to the finished product," she replies, and then her face grows more sombre. "About Gina...why don't you leave Alexis with me for a little bit? My daughter loves playing with children, and I've raised one of my own. You need to go fix things with your wife."

Rick nods, remembering all the background checking he has done on this woman, and feeling confident he is leaving Alexis in safe and capable hands. "I...think I'll go do that. Are you sure it's not an imposition?"

"Not at all, Richard," she says firmly. "The least I can for someone creating beauty in the midst of brokenness. Come back for dinner, and bring Gina with you."

And with that, Rick is out the door, and headed to Black Pawn publishing house, thinking, _Maybe I should get Gina flowers..._

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**A/N:** Apologies, my dear readers; I had forgotten the date and neglected to put up the latest chapter until now - I hope you will forgive me. Thanks goes to all the kind words of encouragement, follows, and favourites I have received so far. Special mention to melindaWRITER who beta'd this chapter. As always, please let me know what your thoughts on this chapter (and story) are thus far, and or if you're willing to join my beta team! Cheers, Ce'Nelenia


	4. Chapter 4: Coffee Housing

**A/N: See Disclaimer in Chapter 1.**

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**Chapter 4: Coffee Housing**

He stops by the florist's and Godiva's before taking a deep breath and entering his wife's workplace. It is oddly quiet, and he feels as if he is doing the walk of shame as everyone stares and grins knowingly at the gifts in his arms. _He screwed up_, he can hear everyone thinking.

Stopping just outside her office, he leans over her receptionist's desk, and winks. "Stephanie, is Gina busy?"

"No, not at the moment," she replies, blushing at him. "I can let her know you're here...?"

"No, it's all right," he answers. "I'll just let myself in."

As he walks the two feet to her office, his charisma falls away and all he can feel is trepidation. He knocks.

"Come in," Gina answers. It's her absentminded voice, which means she is preoccupied, which means...right now might not be the best time. It's too late, he's here. He squares his shoulders, and enters her office.

She looks up, and an expression of surprise forms on her face, before quickly replaced by anger. Slamming the door, she hisses at him, "What are you doing here?!"

"I-I'm sorry!" His apology comes across like a petulant child whose favourite toy has been taken from him; entirely the opposite of what he was hoping. He coughs nervously, and begins again. "I mean, I wanted to come by and apologize. I know that I haven't been the best of husbands lately, and..."

Her expression softens. Thinking this is his chance, he forges ahead, "Well, I brought these for you." He extends the gifts he had bought, and she takes them.

"Rick..."

"You don't like them? I can get new ones!" His voice comes off plaintively.

She sighs. "Rick, no. They're lovely and I love them. But our fights can't keep ending like this! You know...at the end of the day, I feel like I'm competing with Alexis for your attention."

"But you're not," he protests. "You're both equally important to me."

She shakes her head sadly, putting her gifts down on her desk. "If only that was true. We ended the honeymoon early because you were convinced she was missing you. You found her happy with her babysitter when we got back. You've bailed on almost all our nights out, just because you want to be with Alexis more. Grocery shopping, same thing."

Rick isn't in the mood to fight. He slumps in defeat, and wearily looks up at his wife. "Gina...we'll fix this, I promise." He walks over to her, and wraps her in his arms; she doesn't resist. "How could I neglect you? The person who's been there for me in all..." He gestures wildly. "Well, all of what happened with Meredith?" Hugging her tightly, "It'll be all right, I promise."

She sighs again. "I hope so, Rick."

"Well..." he drawls out slowly. "I could ask Johanna Beckett if she can keep Alexis for a little longer, and we could go out for dinner, just the two of us?"

Gina quickly agrees, and he makes a quick phone call. "Hi Johanna, it's Rick. I was wondering if Alexis could stay with you a while longer? Gina and I've decided to go out just the two of us tonight - could we take a raincheck?" He stifles a grin at Johanna's reply. "Yes, will do. I'll see you around nine, then."

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He drops Gina back at the loft first before heading towards the Becketts' house. While they did have a good time the previous night, he still can't help but think of what their marriage is based on: mutual hurt and clinging, rather than love. Though, he has to admit to himself, there is some ounce of affection in him for his wife - his walls aren't so thick that he has become an emotionless robot.

He is sure he's closed, though, and Gina is similarly closed off. That's why their marriage _ works_, or has, so far anyway. _If it could be called 'working'_, he thinks cynically. There's more than a bit of him that thinks this marriage to Gina won't be lasting for very long, either.

His mother is right. Again. He hits his steering wheel out of frustration, and almost swerves into the other lane. Fortunately, he manages to just miss another incoming car, but gets blared at loudly for his stunt. His heart beating wildly, he is careful the rest of the drive there.

He pulls up in front of their house, and kills the engine. Shoving his keys into his pocket, he rings the doorbell.

"Papa!" a little bundle of red barrels towards him, and he swings her up into his arms. "Papa, I had so much fun!"

"For a three year old, she does have a large vocabulary," Johanna says, closing the door behind Rick. "Though I suppose that's typical of a writer's daughter."

"I can't take any credit," Rick laughs ruefully. "Her first word was _denouement_ - being a writer and all, I've been stressing story structure since the beginning. Mostly it's when I'm writing or cooking, the easiest way to distract her is to give her a book. I remember the phone book would entertain her for hours."

Alexis has put her thumb in her mouth, and Rick pries it out gently. "Alexis, we don't suck our thumbs, remember?" He sets her down, and begins to help her with her coat and mitts. "She wasn't too much trouble, was she?"

"Oh, no," Johanna assures him. "She was a spectacular house-guest. And Katie just adores her. They spent all evening reading together. Well, Katie read to Alexis, that is." She momentarily frowns. "Actually, where is she?" Upon hearing the shower run, she smiles. "Well, I don't think you'll be getting to say goodbye tonight, Alexis. Looks like Katie's in the shower."

"Katie?" Alexis looks at Johanna, puzzled, then announces self-importantly in a way only toddlers can; "I say goodbye already. Katie say I should come back and play again."

Johanna laughs. "Does she? Well, you're welcome anytime to, Alexis. And you too, of course, Rick. But I'm sure Gina will appreciate time with you." She winks. "Bye-bye, Alexis!"

"Bye, Aunt Johanna." A look of surprise passes on Rick's face at the endearment, but he mentally shrugs. "Goodnight, Johanna. I'll call you to arrange something?"

"Sure," she replies. "Goodnight, Richard."

She closes the door as they walk down the steps.

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"Well, what did you think, Alexis? Do you like the Becketts'?" But his daughter is already fast asleep. Though, when she wakes up the next morning, it is abundantly clear how much she adores "Aunt Johanna" and Katie, and begs to see them again. And so it became that whenever Gina and Rick need a night out - which still isn't enough for Gina's tastes, Alexis would go to the Becketts'.

Rick never does get to meet Katie, but he does meet Jim, Johanna's husband, and right away the two of them hit off. Once the winter break is over, he is surprised to hear he can continue to drop Alexis off - their daughter has transferred for a semester to NYU from Stanford.

And then his life turns into a whirlwind again, after only what feels like a brief respite. His newest book is a hit, and if he isn't trying to churn out chapters faster than a windmill, then he is at book signings and tours and all over the country. Gina, of course, comes with him, and fortunately for Rick, his mother comes back from her tour (devastatingly broke, but alive) in time to take care of Alexis. Rick lets her know of the arrangement he has with Johanna, and once he is on the other side of the country, he can only hear of "what wonderful people the Becketts' are" and "Oh, Katie is such a wonderful girl", and lastly, "they're all coming for dinner after the New Year's".

By the time it's Christmas, he and Gina are both ready to call it quits. Both know that this marriage is a mistake, and that though they both hold affection for each other, they are better off as friends. So as 1999 rolls around, Rick Castle is once again a single man...and one who is no less whole than he was at the beginning of 1998.

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**A/N: **My sincerest apologies. Real life turned upside down quick-like since I've last posted. I won't bother you with all the details. It seems as though I am in need of a new beta reader, as my friend has disappeared. I'm moving half-way across the world in a week's time, so my hope is that the next chapter will be out as soon as I land. Leave a review to tell me how much you've hated me for not updating this story. Cheers!


	5. Chapter 5: Forward Motion

**A/N: See Disclaimer in Chapter 1. **

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**Chapter 5: Forward Motion**

It is the morning of January 10th, and Rick, Alexis, and his mother, Martha, bustle around the house, getting ready for the Becketts' arrival. When three 'o' clock has rolled by and Johanna hasn't confirmed that they are coming over, Rick senses there is something off. On his hunch, he phones the Becketts' house.

"Hello?" he says as he hears the phone being picked up. He is surprised to hear sobs on the other side of the line.

"H-Hi..." comes the shaky reply.

"Are you...Katie?" he asks, not really knowing what else to say. "Is something wrong?"

He hears a muffled, half-hysterical laugh. "She's gone. My mother is gone..."

Another person picks up. "Hello? Who is this?" It's Jim, and his voice lacks the usual good humour Rick is familiar and comfortable with.

"It's Rick, Jim."

What he hears next drives him to his knees, and but for his tight hold on his phone, it would have dropped to the ground.

"She was murdered last night, Rick. My wife." Rick can hear the beginnings of a breakdown in his voice, and knows immediately he wants to be there for his friend. "Jim, I'll be there in ten."

"Richard, what's wrong?" His mother has gone pale at the sight of her son in tears, and instinctively knows there is something wrong. Rick looks around, and sees that Alexis is in the other room, out of hearing. "Johanna...was murdered last night."

Martha gasps, her hand rising quickly to her mouth. "Oh, Lord..."

"Mother, I have to go," he says tersely, throwing on his coat, and walks out the door. Abruptly, he turns back, and gives his mother a hug and a kiss. "You're all right with staying with Alexis, right?"

At Martha's nod, he adds, his eyes tearing up, "I love you, Mother."

And he is away in the snowy evening.

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The door is locked and bolted, and Rick can feel the opening of the peephole before finally hearing the clicking of the lock, indicating that the door is about to open.

And just as his mind registers that the door has been opened, Jim Beckett is sobbing in his arms, a grown man unashamed of his tears. His daughter stands behind him, her face tear-streaked, but determined not to be found crying in front of a stranger. "I am so sorry, Jim," Rick says finally after closing the door behind him, tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry."

Eventually, Rick pulls himself together enough to make tea for all of them. As they sit, drink and weep, Rick is aware of how much of a hole this loss has dug into him. None of them feel like eating, but Rick orders a pizza anyway.

It sits on the dinner table, untouched; Rick has no appetite in grief, and Jim and Kate simply feel ill at the sight of food – though they know and are touched by Rick's gesture. Finally, Jim excuses himself to go to bed, and Rick is left with Katie - Kate, he firmly tells himself; it seems only her parents are allowed to call her "Katie".

It seems strange to share such a private moment with a person he barely knows – though Johanna had talked in the past of all her misdeeds and accomplishments. It must be stranger still for her, having to host a stranger in her home the day after she's lost her mom. He knows enough not to bring up Johanna, but beyond that, he has no idea what to say to this girl - woman - who has lost her mother. Brutally, above all. Rick had gathered as much from what little bit they had talked about earlier, before all of them had been too overcome by sobs to make any sort of sense.

Abruptly, he knows what to do. "C'mon, Kate, let's go for a ride." He can sense under any other circumstances there wasn't any way she would usually get into a car with a stranger, but she is no place to make decisions. Oddly, he feels protective of her; he takes a look to his right and lets his writer's sense take over.

She is beautiful, even in her grief. Long brown hair, haphazardly tied back, expressive brown eyes...and sitting confusedly in his car. Finally, she breaks the silence. "Where are we going?"

"Just to the Kroger," he replies, making reference to the supermarket. "There's something I want to get." _You_, he leaves unspoken. "And you needed fresh air. I can see you've been taking care of your dad more than you've cared for yourself, just in the last two hours I've been around."

He can see her biting back an angry retort, and he lifts his hand in surrender - before frantically grabbing back on the wheel. "Hey, I'm just saying."

"Just keep your hands on the wheel and eyes on the road, Castle," she answers the question his protest raises.

"So I'm 'Castle' now, am I?" he thinks to himself for a moment. "Hey, I think I actually like that."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'm grieving, not useless. You on the other hand..."

"Hey!" he protests again, so caught up in the argument he almost misses the turn. "Oh, here we are."

They walk into the supermarket, and Rick leads them to the back, to the ice cream section of the store. "Where is it, where is it..." He peers up and down the refrigeration units. "Aha!"

He swings open the door, and quickly grabs a carton. As Kate tries to take a look, he shakes his head at her, and proceeds to the counter. Once they're back in the car, though, he has no choice but to give the bag to Kate as he starts the car and back to her house. She peers into the bag, and as she lifts the carton up, her eyes swell with tears. "How did you know...?"

"About the candy cane ice cream?" He stops the car by the side of the road. "You know, the first time I met her, this was the flavour she picked out. And when I asked her why, she told me it was 'Christmas in May'. Your mother was a remarkable woman, and I figure, the way she went on and on about you, you two had a good, strong relationship." He shrugs. "And I guessed you would have similar tastes."

Rick only hears silence, and then he realizes why: Kate is crying again. He fumbles around his car for Kleenex, but comes up with nothing, instead smashing his head accidentally on the roof of the car. And then the giggles start; she must think his antics are funny. Encouraged, he begins to tell jokes (though he knows how awful they are; even Alexis frowns in disgust at them).

"Shut up, Castle," she says through watery tears, but he knows she doesn't mean it because she's hiding a smile.

"What!" he exclaims, mock-affronted, but he knows he has brought comfort to her in an otherwise dark day.

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He is back at the Becketts' house, more often than not. He feels a strange pull to this family, as if he owes them, though what it is exactly he owes them, he really isn't sure.

His daughter doesn't quite understand why her Aunt Johanna isn't coming back, doesn't understand when she sees her favourite playmate, her father, her Grams, and Poppa Jim with red-rimmed eyes, trying not to cry in front of her. But she comes with him, too, on his visits, if only to cheer Kate up.

He is there when the police stop by with their report, hearing, but not listening. Even in his haze of grief he feels there is something wrong with their story, and Kate can sense it too. But who is he to tell the police to do their jobs? He's a crime writer, not a crime solver; not in real life, in any case.

While his grief is expressed in keeping Johanna's family together, Kate has plans to drop out of school altogether and move in with her father full time; Rick knows she thinks he doesn't know what she's planning – police academy is on her radar.

"Kate, don't do this," he stands in front of the only doorway of the kitchen. "Johanna wouldn't have wanted this for you."

"What do you know what she wants!" Tears stream down the already-worn tracks on her face. "Rick, I need to do this. I need to know what happened to my mother. You know as well as I do those cops weren't telling the truth." She struggles for breath, and for a moment, Rick panics, thinking she's hyperventilating and _oh-God-what-do-I-do_. "You know they've closed the case, and it's been what? Less than three weeks!"

He agrees with her: there is something fishy going on, but outwardly, he shakes his head. "Kate…I may not know your mother as well as you, but I know she wouldn't have wanted you to have her death define your life."

She leans against the counter, and her lip quivers as she tries to smile. "You know, Rick…" Her voice is at an audible decibel again, lower even. "My dream, all my life, was to go and practice law with my mother." She looks up at him, and his heart just shatters, knowing the words she is going to say without her having to say them. "That dream, Rick…that dream is gone. And it will never come back."

He is speechless. He has nothing to say to that, nothing beyond the trite words of half-comfort she's already heard half a dozen times.

His mother is with Jim in the other room, and in the silence, he can hear their conversation, but none of the words are intelligible. He knows Jim has been looking at the bottle of bourbon in the corner, and his mother has travelled that road before – he isn't sure if he should be concerned or relieved. He chooses to believe the former; after all, there isn't much the two of them can do while Alexis is in the same room.

She's started speaking again, but he only catches the last bit of the sentence. "…get to see her."

"Wait, say that again."

"I said, we didn't even get to see her. The detectives told us that her face had been so mutilated they hadn't been able to identify her. The only reason they could was because she still had her wallet on her."

Now, _that_ he didn't know. The detectives hadn't said anything of the sort when he'd been around. "She still had her wallet?"

Kate huffed. "It couldn't possibly be a random mugging, Rick. The detectives told us it had been a mugging the first time they came around, and that my mother was just unlucky." The derision in her voice is clear, speaking as to how highly she really valued the detectives' opinion. "But how can you mutilate someone's face so badly in a random mugging? And why leave her wallet?"

Rick starts to nod, but catches himself. "It doesn't matter, Kate. She's gone. Wouldn't her legacy be better served in the law firm and the works she'd started?"

It's futile; she's made up her mind, and both of them know it. Rick sighs. "Have you…have you at least told your father about your decision?"

"It's too late, Rick. I've already signed up. I'm going to finish my degree at NYU, and the police academy's said they'll take me as soon as I graduate. It's a done deal."

Her expression softens. "This is the right thing, Rick. I'm going to find justice for my mother. And you know what? I'll help other people find justice, too." Her eyes turn towards the other room, where she can see her father smiling for the first time in three weeks, bouncing Alexis on one knee. "I'll tell him, eventually. But you know, this might actually drive him into the bottle we both know he's been looking at these past couple of weeks. And look at him. I can't destroy what happiness he has at the moment."

He shakes his head. "It's that your father's started grieving, Kate." _And you haven't_, were the words hanging unspoken between them. "But it's your family, and your life. I don't have any business poking into your things."

She nods once, before shaking her head and heading up the stairs, steps heavy and hesitant, as if she herself isn't sure of her decision, no matter the things she has just spoken out loud.

* * *

**A/N: **Big thanks go out to TonyCastle78 for helping me stay true to my storyline, NinaK.05 and melindaWRITER for beta-ing. For those of you following, favouriting, and reviewing, I cannot express to you how appreciative I am. Next chapter should be out within the next week, but no promises. Leave me a review to tell me what you think! Best, Ce'Nelenia


	6. Chapter 6: Grinder

**A/N: **See Disclaimer in Chapter 1. Beta'd by melindaWRITER and NinaK.05.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Grinder**

He hasn't seen Kate since that day, that day she told him she is to attend police academy; whenever his mother broaches the subject with Jim, he grows solemn and jokes the questions away. But Rick, always quick with observations, can see how much Jim's daughter's decision and obstinacy about confronting and healing frustrates and hurts him.

He avoids the subject around Jim, though he knows his mother has become his confidante in that area. What surprises him is how remarkably close-mouthed about the whole situation, given her usual lack of restraint in all areas of her life. He didn't think her capable, but she has aged since Johanna's untimely death– she is still her usual flamboyant self, but…now she carries an air of responsibility Rick has never seen before.

Alexis has been the most hurt, of the three of them, at Kate's disappearance from her life. Carrying abandonment issues already from her mother's abrupt departure, Rick could feel nothing but a sense of helpless rage as his daughter once again cries her eyes out about another exit (though he himself has had no idea their bond had gone in so deep, or he would have had made plans for eventualities).

She withdraws into herself, and Castle grows more and more concerned, but helpless to do anything; until, finally, her nursery teacher pulls him aside one day.

"Mr. Castle, I'm not sure if you've noticed…" her teacher hesitates, glancing over at Alexis, who is half-heartedly playing with her dolls; "Alexis hasn't really been herself in the past. When you mentioned that your ex-wife had left, I had seen some of the same behaviour, but she quickly adjusted; has something traumatic happened?"

Rick gazes out at his daughter, only half-hearing her teacher's words. "A close friend of mine…passed away suddenly earlier this year."

"And was Alexis close with this friend?"

He looks her square in the eye. "Yes, very. It was…under quite tragic circumstances."

"I am very sorry for your loss," her teacher replies, looking sorry for having pressed Rick. "I had a student who had similar behaviour, several years ago, and he went and saw a counsellor." She hesitates. "I would like to recommend you take Alexis to one."

Rick lets out a huff of surprise. "You really think it will help?"

"I think Alexis needs to talk about it," she replies, and walks over to the arts and crafts cupboard. "Here, look." He can see Alexis's crooked and loopy attempt at her name on the top of every sheet of the stack of papers he has been given. He smiles, but it is gone as fast as it had appeared.

He sucks in a breath. In every single picture, there is a little girl with a large frown on her face off to a side, with adults – one, two, three, four – on the other side. Dark, angry clouds clutter up the sky-scape. But all Rick can see is that one male figure placed solidly on the other side. "She thinks…I'll leave too?"

"I can't offer a professional opinion, Mr. Castle," her teacher says openly, "But yes, this is what it seems, to me."

He takes a step back as if he has been struck, and he can feel the beginnings of tears welling in his eyes. "I…I will think about it. Thank you, Mrs. Bennett."

Alexis is quiet all the way home, and Rick is similarly so, thinking of the conversation he is going to have with his daughter when he gets home. He knows his mother is off with Jim again, probably with a bunch of their other friends, and won't be back for another while.

When they get home, Alexis sits at her usual place at the dinner table with her milk and cookies, quietly nibbling away. Rick sits next to her, and she looks up, surprised, when her father makes no attempts at jokes, only gazing at her quietly.

"Papa?" Her listless eyes tear away at him; why hadn't he thought of taking her to counselling sooner?

"Alexis…you know where people go when they get sick?" His tone is gentle, soothing, disarming.

"The doctor's." She gives her father the "shouldn't you know that" face.

"Well…" And he is at a loss for words. "Uhm, sometimes, bad things happen to people, and it feels like their hearts are broken." He holds his hand over his heart, "Right here." He hesitates, but chooses to go further. "Do you feel this, ever?"

Alexis starts to shake her head, before changing her mind, her eyes filling with tears. "Papa, it hurts so bad all the time."

"I know, Pumpkin, I know." He pulls Alexis onto his lap, enveloping her in his embrace, tears running down his own face. They sit there in silence, before Alexis wipes her face all over her father's shirt.

"Papa, do they have heart-doctors too?"

What a smart cookie, he thinks.

Carefully, "Yes. Do you think you'd like to go see one?" He sees determined blue eyes staring back into his, and he knows what her answer is before she even responds.

"Papa, I don't want to hurt anymore," she shrugs, and then hesitantly, "If I go…will you come with me?"

His heart shatters into a million pieces again. He chokes, before saying, "Of course, Alexis. Of course."

She snuggles back into him.

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After she has gone to bed, he waits up for his mother, despite physically exhausted from the emotional drain the conversation had had on him. He finds himself drifting off, and jolting awake at inopportune times. Finally, he hears the door open.

"Richard!"

He glances at the clock: 2:31am. Picking himself up off the couch, he banters back, "You're late!"

"We were over at Jerry's, and we may have all fallen asleep during the movie," she replied, flapping her gloves at him. "Dreadfully boring movie. Now we know not to let him pick the movie next time."

Rick grunts.

His mother takes a second look, and sighs. "Oh, darling. It's Alexis, isn't it?"

Rick nods heavily, and seats himself at the table, his mother follows suit. "Her teacher…she recommended that Alexis go to counselling."

"And…?" She lays a hand across his forearm, as his other one is occupied, cradling his forehead.

"I asked Alexis if she wants to do it, and," He chokes again; his emotions are on a runaway train and he couldn't rein them in, even if he tried. "She – she…" He struggles for composure, trying again: "She wants to do it."

"Well, that is certainly good news," his mother says lightly, though her hand doesn't leave his arm.

"Mother, she thinks we're going to leave her." His red-rimmed eyes are glazed over with tears refusing to fall any longer. "She thinks we're just going to _abandon_ her." The righteous anger in his voice, ending in a broken note, has Martha struggling for her own composure.

"Oh…Richard…"

And then it is his turn to fall into a parent's embrace.

"Mother…do you think we should go see someone too?"

There is silence, before Martha admits, "Jim and I…we've already been going to counselling the past few months."

He looks at her, surprised. "…Oh."

"I didn't want to broach the subject with you, Richard," she says, sighing. "But, you know, it's doing a lot to help me, and you can see how much better Jim is now. It will be good for you to see someone."

"…I think I will."

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He makes sure not to see his counsellor the same day as his daughter sees hers; he makes that mistake once, and realizes that he has no emotional capacity to help his daughter carry her burden after being completely drained in his own session. And so, they fall into a routine: on days he has an appointment his mother takes care of Alexis, giving him space to process his emotions and time to stabilize his emotional state. And on days she has appointments, he sits in the waiting room, patiently waiting for his daughter.

Today is one of those days. He sits with his notepad on his lap, sketching out Derek Storm's character profile. Abruptly, he hears Alexis wailing inside; and everything within him screams to barge into the room, but something within stops him from doing so. He reassures himself by looking at the clock; there are only five minutes left to the session before Dr. Connors, Alexis's therapist, comes out to discuss with him Alexis's "homework" for the week.

True to form, she opens the door right as the hand strikes 4:25pm. "Mr. Castle?"

He stumbles in, eager to get to Alexis, who is still wailing away (he hasn't heard her this loud since she was born), and immediately she buries her face in her father, and holds on to his leg tightly. Hoisting her up, he sits in the couch by Dr. Connors' desk.

Finally, Alexis quietens, to sniffles, and then small snores.

"Well," Dr. Connors is all smiles, at which he can't help but feel there's an inside joke he's missed. "Today went very well." She pauses, her face growing solemn, and re-shuffles her papers. "Alexis finally opened up today, and what I've thought all along has been confirmed." She looks sadly at Alexis, and then back at Rick. "Mr. Castle, I'm afraid Alexis has Abandoned Child Syndrome. She shows all the classic signs: withdrawal from social activities, an abnormal fear towards trusting others, and with your mention of nightmares and poor sleeping habits; today, she let on that she feels extremely guilty about her mother leaving, and a woman named…Johanna and her daughter, Kate?"

Rick's fists tighten, but he says nothing.

Dr. Connors continues, not noticing. "And, Mr. Castle, I hesitate to say this, but I believe Alexis may also be suffering from depression."

Rick bows his head in resignation; he hasn't expected any differently.

"The good news is, both are manageable. I'm not fond of medication – and certainly not at this age. Children have an amazing healing rate, and having seen your interaction with her, I am sure she will especially sprout in a supportive and warm home."

After a long period of silence in which Rick digests her words, he feels an unfamiliar feeling rising from within his chest, a first in a very long time: _hope_.

Dr. Connors smiles gently at him. "You mustn't give up. She needs you now, more than ever. And I have great faith in Alexis…and you."

* * *

**A/N**: Don't worry, happier days to come...I shan't leave the Castles and Becketts in a ditch. Any mistakes here are not the fault of my betas; I may have re-written things after they finished their read-over. Leave a review! Cheers, Ce'Nelenia


	7. Chapter 7: Gypsy

**A/N**: See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Un-beta'd.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Gypsy **

Rick startles awake, sweating and hoarse from his nightmare. Glancing at his clock, he groans: it is only two a.m. in the morning. This is only God-knows-how-many-it's-been nights in a row – his overactive imagination can't help but picture the horrors of his friend's last moments. He slumps backwards, his mind going places he's tried to avoid – yet he knows now how useless it is to avoid pain. His life has held nothing but pain in the last while.

He pulls on a pair of socks, and trudges out to the kitchen. Making himself a hot cup of cocoa, he stares blankly at the sheet in front of him. For once in his life, the words feel hollow to him. It is as if once these words are spoken, Johanna will truly be dead; that it'll be true that he'll never see her again, never hear her correct his work, or welcome him into her home for dinner. Jim took him aside the other week, asking him to speak, and he hadn't understood why: certainly, they had been good friends, but only for a brief period of time; a year, maybe two.

But he says yes anyway.

And now he doesn't know if he can actually go through with it – he's no stranger to the spotlight, but this, this is different; he doesn't want to sound callous, nor is he willing to overcommit emotionally today, not if Alexis is going to be a wreck.

He's going to be a wreck regardless, he thinks. And hopefully, Alexis won't know or understand enough to fall to pieces today.

He sits awake until it's time for the funeral. He dresses Alexis carefully, and makes sure she has food in her stomach, though he doesn't have any himself. His mother even comes down downstairs on time, and the mood, once they sit down at the kitchen table, is decidedly somber and tersely silent, unsettling.

He pats his pockets for his notes one last time, before taking Alexis's hand and nodding at his mother to get the door behind them. It closes with a firm finality.

Walking into the foyer of the funeral home, he and his family are greeted by Jim, who is red-eyed and clutching at a handkerchief as if his life is dependent upon it. Martha is uninhibited; she draws Jim into a hug, and the poor man visibly crumples, his body wracked with sobs, probably not for the first time today.

Pulling himself together, he manages a watery smile of gratefulness at Martha, and Rick too, pulls him into a hug – a brief one, but a hug nonetheless. Alexis, ever shy, hides behind her father, not knowing what to do with this not entirely unfamiliar version of her Uncle Jim.

They sit quietly in the chapel, listening to the muffled sobs around them. Rick himself is not immune; he too has tears coursing down his face. Looking down at his daughter, he has never been so thankful for her – he squeezes her in a gentle hug, and she snuggles into him.

Jim and Kate walk into the chapel, and take seats in the front. Rick notes Kate, though red-eyed, is not crying, though her body language suggests she is only trying to be strong, avoiding public display of her emotions.

Abruptly, he feels a surge of sympathy; however badly Alexis has reacted to Kate's withdrawal from her life, his heart cannot help but hurt along with hers. Though in different circumstances, he knows full well how to miss a parent – and how much more painful for her, having had full set of experiences with Johanna, only to be entirely torn from her mother by evil. At least he's never know his father.

Several people go up to speak, and Rick is surprised how many of her former clients are in the crowd, and how attached they are – were – to her, though he should not have expected less. And then there are her friends, from all different walks of life – Johanna may have been from the upper class, but it is clear that she did not discriminate based on class, or race, for that matter.

Suddenly, the words he has written down are inadequate – he wants better than the trite words he has agonized over the past weeks.

And then, it is his turn.

He unwraps his daughter from around him, giving his mother a look – she nods, and scoots over closer to Alexis – before finally walking to the front.

In his head, he chants, _it's not about you, it's not about you -  
_  
He clears his throat. And again. An uneasy chuckle runs through the crowd, though he can see Kate glaring at him. _Don't look at her, don't look at her..._

He looks down at his notes, and he shoves them back into his pocket. He doesn't need them.

"I was privileged to have met Johanna Beckett last year, and though I've only known her for a year, her loss has left a Johanna-sized hole, one each one of you have."

He can see heads bobbing; emboldened, he continues, "Johanna was extraordinary. The day we met was the day Kate was coming home, and my daughter Alexis collided into her, at Alexis's favourite park, and as I found out soon enough – had been Kate's favourite, as a child." He can see smiles in the crowd, and Jim puts his arm around his daughter, and Kate is visibly fighting tears. "She then proceeded to buy us ice cream, and for herself, she bought candy cane ice cream – because it wasn't ever 'too early for Christmas'."

He flashes a wry grin and there are more nods, and some laughter. Rick shrugs. "You can't say she wasn't spontaneous."

He waits for the laughter to subside before continuing. "And in her work, she was a crusader – the work she did to make our legal system more fair, to wipe away any injustice so that our city could be a better place. I'm sure many of you can testify to this.

"But in spite of her busy schedule, she made time for me and my family as we struggled through hard times. She took us in," he nods at Jim, "She made us family, for which I am forever grateful."

He pauses again, and is surprised by the number of people in the crowd to whom his words have struck a chord.

"It was her heart that impressed me, above all. And, Johanna, I look to you as an inspiration." He gazes at the closed casket next to him, and he feels tears threatening to come out again. "May we be inspired by her to continue to look for justice in places filled with darkness. May we bring hope and love to the hopeless and the unloved, as she did. And may we never forget her, keeping her alive through her memory, close to our hearts."

Awkwardly, with tears running unashamedly, he steps down. He quickly embraces Jim before taking his seat.

His mother squeezes his hand. "You did good, kiddo."

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. His heart tears apart at the sight of his friend completely broken as he speaks about his wife, and he vaguely remembers thinking – badly, for which he chides himself – that Kate might have a heart after all. But what he does notice is the leaving of several well-dressed men at the back of the chapel, after Kate had spoken. He files it under odd, and gives it no further thought.

xxxxxxxx

Everyone is gone, barring the Castles and Becketts - they stand in the bitter March winter, gazing at Johanna's tombstone. No one wants to leave, despite angry clouds overhead threatening to blizzard.

And then he hears it: a keen wail eerily cutting through the silence - Kate, sobbing in her father's arms, entirely slumped over.

Then a second voice joins in, much higher in pitch. Alexis.

The two voices intertwine, weaving a tapestry of raw, angry sorrow. Rick looks over at Jim as they each hold their daughters in their arms, as Martha envelopes all of them together, their breaths creating a puff cloud on the winter air.

Rick sends his daughter and mother home, and before too long, he bundles the Becketts into a cab and ride with them home. He makes sure they are all right before he departs, and he leaves a note on the kitchen table.

Jim,  
If you need anything, just call. _Rick_

* * *

**A/N: **My apologies for going so long without an update. I've actually been sitting on this chapter for two weeks. Oops? Next chapter might take a little longer, but we're slowly moving out of angst and into mystery/crime/adventure mode. And don't worry, we'll see more of Kate next chapter. This chapter was unbeta'd because I figured you people waited long enough. Let me know how you feel about this chapter and where you think this is going! Cheers, Ce'Nelenia


	8. Chapter 8: Ante Off

**A/N: **See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Beta'd.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Ante Off**

"The job is done?" The statement is posed as a question, but Dick Coonan knows it is anything but; the man who poses the question to him wants nothing less than affirmation. He remains cool, calm and collected, but he can feel his hands start to sweat –

It's done." Coonan's lying through his teeth, hoping his employer won't notice.

He doesn't. "Good. You know the drill – don't contact me. I will contact you."

Coonan cannot help but let a grin slip – out of relief. He nocks his head to the side, commenting cockily, "Of course."

He can't get out of D.C. fast enough.

xxxxxxxx

Rick doesn't head home right away. Instead, he makes his way to his favourite bar, The Old Haunt, a place he hasn't been to since Alexis was born. He stands in front of the door for a while, shivering, before pushing it open.

It's just as he left it, all those years ago. Eddie plays the first few chords of Rick's song, and Rick fishes a couple bills from his coat pocket, leaving a generous tip for the pianist, and surprised Eddie still remembers him.

"You haven't been here for a while, Mr. Castle," the bartender observes. "Sit down, sit down!"

"Leo," He tries to come across as warm, but the weariness and sadness from his day creeps into his voice.

The bartender pushes a drink into his hands, and Rick finds himself ushered into his usual spot. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, only to be told "it's on the house".

And then he is left alone. He takes out his notebook, half-heartedly jotting down random thoughts. He knows they'll be completely useless later, but he can't bear to actually let the weight of his day sink into the forefront of his mind. He scans the room, people-watching; he sees a happy couple in the corner, an irritation in his eye as he identifies that they're still in their honeymoon stage; the lonely drunk in the corner – who's been there since Rick had first stepped into the bar – chatting up a storm with a woman who has no interest in him (who could blame her, Rick thinks); the guys in the back, roaring at and with the hockey game blaring on the TV screen.

So intent is he in watching other people that he is surprised when someone slides into his booth, almost going entirely unnoticed, had he not bumped into Rick's knee while sliding in. And this someone…is utterly drunk. Rick recoils at the sour beer he can smell coming from the other man's breath.

Rick moves to leave for another booth, but the man – boy – drunk out of his mind, grabs him. "C'mon, don't you want to know about the farm?"

There's something about his tone that makes Rick pause. "Sorry, I don't really like agriculture."

The boy lets out a squeal of a laugh. "Agriculture!" He takes a deep gulp from his glass. "Not that kind of farm!" He grins and extends his hand. "I'mma Jimmy by the way."

Rick shakes the proffered hand gingerly, making a mental note to wash his hand later. "Rick."

"Y'know what I'm talking about, don'tcha?" Jimmy slurps his drink, and slaps the table.

And abruptly, Rick _does _know. "You're talking about Langley." He pauses. "Wait. You work for the CIA?"

"Right in one!" Jimmy points his finger at Rick – or rather, in Rick's general direction, slurring his words. "You're a smart one. But it's such a pain." He looks mournfully at Rick before gulping down more alcohol. "No fun, all work. My boss is a total hardass – hey I recognize you. You're that famous author."

_No duh, _Rick thinks. They _are_ sitting under his photo. He replies, "Yep. That'd be me. So, uhh, you're really CIA? Then is Jimmy your actual name?"

Of all the chances, meeting a CIA operative in this bar?

"Hell, yeah. James 'Jimmy' Oliver, that's me." He fishes around for something in his pockets. "Here." He thrusts a business card at Rick. "Look. Oh, you should keep it. Well – "

Jimmy passes out on the table.

Rick leaves the boy there, slumped over. He motions to Leo that he's heading out, then he's out in the cold wintry air.

The cab ride home passes quickly; to him, it seems like it was only seconds ago he had hailed the driver – perhaps it's because of the business card he was just handed, burning a figurative hole in his back pocket.

xxxxxxxx

The next morning, he wakes to the shrill screams of his daughter throwing a tantrum. He prays his mother has it in hand- but knowing her, she doesn't. So he reluctantly rolls out of bed, with a pounding headache and not quite awake.

Abruptly, he hears a crash; startled, he trips over the pants he's trying to pull up, and he curses. Frantically, he puts on his clothes as fast as he can, and rushes to the kitchen, where he's pretty sure where the sounds were coming from.

"Oh, thank heavens, Richard," his mother sighs in relief.

"What's going on?" He notes the broken dishes in the corner, thankfully far away from his crying daughter – and the broom beside the mess. His mother must have been trying to do damage control.

"Alexis doesn't want to go to school," Martha throws her hands in the air. "I can't talk sense into her. I don't understand – she's normally so well-behaved…"

"No school!" Alexis punctuates, petulantly crossing her arms, her little face scrunched by the most ferocious I-am-going-to-yell expression Rick has ever seen.

Rick crouches down, until he is eye-level with his daughter. "Alexis…"

But once he's down there, he notices the tears in her eyes. He sighs, an altogether different sigh that his mother has released; "This isn't really about school, is it, Pumpkin?"

She swipes her arm across her face, trying to brush away the tears leaking fast from her eyes, and she shakes her head. "Papa…"

He stays down there, his parent's intuition telling him she wants to talk, and he settles cross-legged on the floor, and she climbs onto his lap. In the background, he can hear his mother trudging back up the steps.

She sniffles for a while, and Rick leans back against the counter. They sit there for a while – and Rick decides there isn't any way Alexis is going to school today, at least this morning (though he knows they shouldn't make a habit of being truant – Alexis needs to have her schedule normalized quickly, or so her counsellor has said).

"Papa, why do bad things happen?" Alexis turns her face towards him, her bright blue eyes still glimmering with tears. "Like to Aunt Johanna?"

Rick's breath hitches. How on earth can he answer her, when he himself has been wrestling with that very question? Slowly, he breathes out. "Hmmm…Well, what do you think, Alexis?"

Her gaze turns thoughtful despite the tears still threatening – as thoughtful as a young child could be. "Because people aren't always good? And, and people are _selfish_!"

He is surprised at the vehemence in her voice; making sure to keep his voice even, he admits grudgingly, "Yes that's true." He stares past Alexis, thinking. What else could he tell her? Finally, he continues. "But, Pumpkin, are all people like that? Are all people selfish?"

"Yes!"

Rick folds his hand around her tiny one. "Really, Pumpkin? You think your Papa and Grams and Uncle Jim are selfish people?"

She concedes, "No…but Papa, you and Grams and Uncle Jim aren't _normal._" Her lip quivers. "Papa, am _I_ selfish?" Rick can see the tears coming again. "Papa, am I _bad_? Is that why Mama doesn't love me?"

Rick can't help the seething anger he feels rising in his chest at the mention of Meredith. He takes a deep breath, and carefully considers his words. Turning his daughter so that she can see his face clearly, his voice shakes as he sees the big blue eyes glimmering back at him. "Pumpkin…you aren't bad. Not at all. Sometimes you do bad things – like throw a tantrum at Grams this morning – but you aren't bad. A bad person does bad things all the time. A bad person and someone who does bad things are not the same thing. A normal person can sometimes do bad things, but that doesn't make them bad.

He takes another breath. "And Pumpkin, your mother loves you very much. She…just doesn't know how to show it very well. And Alexis, I know how hurtful that is – you have to remember bad actions – when someone does something bad – can hurt someone else, too. Do you understand?"

She nods, and seeing that she is taking his word – albeit with a bit of doubt, he moves on. "Listen, Pumpkin. I, your Grams, and your Uncle Jim, we're _normal_. This is the way people _are supposed_ act, but sometimes, people just make bad decisions. Does this make sense?"

She nods again. "So, Papa…am I normal, then?"

Rick pulls his daughter into a tight hug, and responds without hesitation. "Yes, Alexis…yes. Yes, you are."

He couldn't pull his daughter off him even if he tried.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait. Again, I've had this chapter mostly written until real life came and threw more assignments (and in more languages) than my poor brain could handle all at once. Kudos goes to my dear friend who stayed up to beta this chapter. I can promise there'll be more Kate next chapter - I apparently really, really like Castle and Alexis moments. Oh, and thanks for all of you who are now following this story - and, if all 110 of you left a review, I would be very flattered and very happy. Also, I really do want to know what you think - where you think this story is going, characterization points...etc., etc. So until next time, Ce'Nelenia

P.S. I have some outtakes of Kate and Alexis moments that didn't make it into this story. Shall I post them up? CN


	9. Chapter 9: Bank

A/N: See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Beta'd.

* * *

Chapter 9: Bank

Rick has just dropped his daughter off at her school, and thankfully, she had been very well behaved all morning. Having just arrived home, he closes the door to his office, seating himself at his desk. The outline of his Derek Storm novel is on his desk, and he feels a little bit of guilt for not paying it more attention. He dismisses the thought; he's quickly identified since Meredith left that family is more important to him than his work.

He hears a knock. "Come in, Mother."

"Richard," his mother's head peers around the door. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be out late with Jim and Jerry and his wife tonight." She grins. "We're going to see the opera!"

Rick nods, a faint smile gracing his own face. "Have fun, Mother. Alexis and I won't wait up."

"Ta-ta!" He hears his front door close with a dramatic flair. He shakes his head, more out of humour at his mother's antics than irritation.

He opens his desk drawer, and fingers the business card he had been given several nights back. He picks up the cordless phone from his desk, and silently debates whether or not to call the number, thinking of all the firsthand research he could obtain from an actual CIA agent.

He decides to go for it.

The phone rings several times, before, finally, being picked up. A groggy voice greets Rick. "…Hello?"

"Hi, I'm looking for a Jimmy Oliver?"

"Speaking," comes the reply, this time more tentative and cautious than the initial greeting. "Who is this?"

"I met you the other night at the bar," Rick says, his free hand tapping against his desk excitedly. "You mentioned something about the Farm?"

An unintelligible noise comes from the other side of the phone, a curse word Rick would not care to repeat in private company. "L-l-look, forget I told you about that." Jimmy's voice is shaky, scared. "Forget you've ever met me."

"I can't do that, Jimmy," replies Rick genially. "Why don't I meet you at The Old Haunt again tonight, and we'll have a little chat. 11pm, let's say?"

"F-f-fine." Jimmy huffs out nervously.

Rick hangs up the phone, and gets up to dance a little jig – excited at the prospect of legitimately being able to scoop CIA details, but also in part due to the amazement he has at being able to still summon happy feelings despite all of the pain and sorrow in his life.

The evening can't come fast enough.

He spends the rest of the morning pacing around his office and his loft, before deciding the space is too small for him. Pulling on his coat, he heads off to the nearest coffee shop, with his handy notebook in his jacket pocket.

It's a fine spring morning. Already he notices the extra bounce in pedestrians' steps and brighter colours in the streets, a far cry from the trudging and drudgery of previous weeks. His mood lifts, and his posture straightens; it's as if a large burden has been lifted off of his shoulders.

He pauses, trying to remember the distance from where he stands to his favourite coffee shop. Making a quick left, and then a right –

– there it is. He quickly enters.

He hasn't been here in a long time - something he notices all too well, with the extra renovations that they've done since he's been here last.

The ambience is nice and warm, a welcome reprieve from the cold spring air outside. Well lit, he can see the steaming cups of coffee - and smell their alluring scent - on every occupied  
table, and the low murmurs of ongoing conversations.

A jostling behind him makes him turn.

"Sir, it's your turn –"

It's Jim Beckett's daughter.

He doesn't acknowledge that he's heard – or her, really – placing his order instead.

The awkward tension between the two of them as they wait for their coffees is palpable.

She speaks first. "Mr. Castle... I never did thank you for..." she chokes, but recovers, far quicker than Rick thought possible. "For your family, and how you've helped my father...through all of this."

It's clear that she's still grieving, though Rick can't see any evidence of said grief on her face.

He clears his throat. "He's a friend." This is what friends do.

"Still..."

She's interrupted by the barista, who informs them that their beverages are ready. Yet they  
still stand in front of the counter awkwardly though they've picked up their drinks, each hoping the other will make the next move.

Finally, Rick sighs. "Let's grab a table." For a moment, he thinks he sees an almost animalistic urge to flee in her eyes, but dismisses the thought when she acquiesces.

They head to the back, to a quiet corner. Rick notices how easily and quickly she navigates the tight space; it's obvious that she has been here before, and regularly, by how other established patrons in the shop greet her.

They sit in awkward silence. She has her hands wrapped around her cup; he, with one hand on his cup, the other on the table, his fingers tapping an indiscriminate pattern.

She breaks first, exhaling nervously, "How are Alexis and Martha doing?"

He laughs shortly, and even he can hear the cynicism he feels at the posed question. She winces, and ducks her head down. At this, he suddenly remembers how young she actually is. He pushes that stab of sympathy to the back of his mind. "They're fine," he says curtly. "I would've thought that  
you'd see my mother more than me - she and Jim have become the best of friends, it seems."

"I... I wouldn't know." Her eyes remain downcast. "I... haven't been home much in the last while."

His mother had mentioned it once or twice, now that he thinks about it.

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake. I should get going." She reaches for her purse, and gets up to leave.

"You know... your father isn't the only person who's been hurt by your disappearing act," he says quietly.

She turns, as if stricken. "I-I-I'm sorry." She flees, nearly knocking down several cups of coffee in the process.

His own coffee turns sour in his mouth. Sighing, he grabs his coat and chases after her.

"Kate!" He can't catch up; she's obviously fit, and he's…not. She doesn't turn around, though Rick imagines for a moment that there was just a tiny stutter in her steps, a hesitation. He pants on the sidewalk, debating for a moment whether or not he should continue the chase.

But before he can decide, he feels a sudden jab in his neck, and his world swirls around him.

_What the…_

xxxxxxxxx

He awakens to a black hood over his face, his hands cuffed behind the back of the hard wooden chair he's sitting on. He kicks his legs experimentally – and nearly topples in the process; his legs are tied to the legs as well.

_Don't panic…_

_Don't panic…_

He's panicking.

His mind runs the things his kidnappers could possible want from him.

Money? He's hit his first million already a year or two ago, but if they wanted someone rich, they had the wrong person. He's still paying off the mortgage on his loft.

A rich laugh greets his ears – a woman?

"Gentlemen…if we could get the restraints off of Mr. Castle…"

His hood comes off, and then the cuffs. He rubs his wrists gingerly, trying to get the feeling back into them, while scanning the room around him.

A gorgeous brunette stands at the front of the room, her arms crossed, and two men in front of him, unlocking the manacles around his feet. These must be her lackeys, he decides.

He stands unsteadily to his feet, and promptly falls back into the chair. "Whaaa…" he slurs. He notices she's unarmed, but not much luck there when he can't even stand properly.

She dismisses her goons – he's called them – and seats herself on the other chair in the room.

"I apologize for all of this. My agents do get a little…enthusiastic." She smiles. "Would you like a drink?"

He regards her with suspicion.

She laughs. "Don't worry, it won't be drugged. We've put enough of that poison into your system." She nods towards him – but not at him, he realizes; at the security camera behind him.

To his surprise, Jimmy Oliver comes barrelling through the door, with a mug in his hand. "Ma'am, I've brought your coffee."

His astonishment can't stop his mouth from blurting out, "You're CIA?!"

She nods, her eyes twinkling. "That's right, Mr. Castle."

"That is _so_ awesome!"

xxxxxxxx

"Now, I understand you're writing a new novel," Sophia – her name, he's come to know – says, casually sipping from her own mug.

"Yes, Derek Storm." He smiles back at her, at ease instantly. She's different. "CIA operative, and I'm looking to do a little research – which, I thought Jimmy-boy here could help me out with."

"You made him panic and come running to me," she replies, looking over at Jimmy, who flushes. "He thought you were a person of interest. Thankfully, all of that was cleared up easily."

"Me?" Rick pretends to be hurt. "Little old innocent me?" They laugh, and Rick hasn't felt this way since Kyra, his college flame. "So, is there any chance I can tag along and do some research? I just need to get a feel for the agency, lend some authenticity to my work. No classified things, I promise."

"Of course you won't be able to put classified information in your novels, Rick," she says with a straight face. "Or else we'd have to kill you."

Rick makes a face.

"All jokes aside, we've already started the paperwork," Sophia continues, amused at his antics. "And I've taken the liberty of providing you with my direct line. We'll be able to show you the basics – everything else, your imagination will have to do the trick, though I'm sure that's no problem, given how successful your writing has been already."

She glances down at her watch. "Now…don't you have to go pick up your daughter? We'll continue this on a later date." She nods towards Jimmy. "Could you walk Mr. Castle out?"

xxxxxxxx

The rest of the day is a blur. All he can think of is his trip into CIA territory. Even Alexis notices how distracted he is.

"Papa," she whines. "Don't you want to know about my day?"

"Pumpkin, of course I want to know!" Rick's attention snaps back to his daughter. "Did you enjoy school?"

"Mrs. Bennett taught us about plants today! And we even got to plant our own beans." She holds up her little clear pot proudly. "Look! I'm going to call him Mr. Bean. Like that TV show! Except he'll be better looking."

Rick laughs, but before he can reply, his phone rings. He picks it up after the fourth ring, after lumbering across his couch. "Hello, Rick speaking."

"Richard." It's his mother, and he can hear anxiety and fright in her voice. He shushes Alexis, who looks back at him wonderingly. Upon hearing what she has to say, he falls back on his couch, stunned: "I need you to come down to the police station. Jim and I've been arrested."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, and I apologize for the cliff-hanger. As you can see, we're slowly moving into the drama part of the story...and Sophia Turner won't be staying for long. Promise. Also, it looks like this story is going to be at 30 chapters long, which more than intimidates me a little bit. Let me know how you feel about this chapter (I'm mostly afraid I jammed in too many things!). Oh, and all mistakes are mine - my beta is the greatest! - I just choose to fiddle with things after he's done. Until next time, Ce'Nelenia**


	10. Chapter 10: Ace-to-Fives

**A/N: **Please see disclaimer in Chapter 1. Beta'd by the lovely NinaK.05 and a dear friend.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Ace-to-Fives**

Rick isn't sure what to think. His mother, arrested - sure, he could believe that. But Jim! On-the-straight-and-narrow-path Jim?

"I'll be right there, Mother. Which police station are you at?"

A muffled conversation on the other side, before Martha quickly rattles off the location of the 12th Precinct - Rick mutters tersely back that he'll be there as soon as he can.

He looks down at Alexis. It's too late to find a sitter, but he can't possibly bring her into the station. But there's no one he can call, and he obviously can't leave her home alone. He sighs, and his daughter looks at him questioningly.

"Papa?"

_Damn it! _He curses, and almost indulges in his childish urge to kick his couch. Of course he can't bring her to the police station. _What am I thinking!_

He sighs. He might as well try the sitter. After promising to pay triple the usual going rate, the sitter finally agrees, and arrives at the loft not ten minutes later, dressed inappropriately for babysitting his daughter (though he can't bring himself to care at the moment, and Alexis is already tired, so he doubts she'll be up for more than half an hour after he's gone). He kisses his daughter goodnight, promising to be back in the morning in time to send her off to school. She takes the news that he is going out with unusual aplomb. He isn't sure if he should feel proud or guilty.

It's a wet night, and the traffic moves unbearably slow, especially for Rick. The inching of the taxi does nothing for his stress, and he can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. He remembers to call his lawyer in the cab, but that's all his nervous state allows.

It's a surprisingly short ride from his loft to the precinct, though the information itself holds no comfort for Rick.

Upon arrival, he springs on the desk sergeant. "I'm looking for Martha Rodgers and Jim Beckett?"

The other man is clearly bored and falling asleep; he grunts a little bit before directing him towards someone who can tell him anything – a deadbeat detective, by the looks of it. "Detective John Raglan."

He offers his hand, but Rick has no wish to shake it, not with the amount of sheer greasiness the man oozes. He does it anyway. "You are…?"

"Rick Castle, here for Martha Rodgers and Jim Beckett. My lawyer will be with me soon," Rick says, tension rolling off of him in waves. "Why on earth were my mother and Jim arrested?"

"Not arrested, we're just asking them some questions in an ongoing investigation," Raglan answers smoothly. Rick still doesn't like the guy, and likes him even less when Raglan offers him a seat on a rickety chair, one that is likely to fall apart the minute he sits on it.

"I'm good, thanks. I'll just wait here for my lawyer," Rick replies. Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his lawyer walks out of the elevator.

"Rick, m'boy!" Yes, it's a little awkward that his lawyer is his mother's ex-boyfriend, but Rick mentally shrugs – his mother can deal with it, especially if he's the one saving her butt. "Bob, thanks for coming down."

"Not a problem, Ricky," Bob replies. "Let's see what trouble your mother's gotten into." He turns to Raglan, who is actually twiddling his thumbs _(who does that?_ Rick thinks incredulously to himself). "Robert Weldon, attorney-at-law, here for Martha Rodgers and James Beckett. Lead the way, detective."

Rick is offered coffee by another detective – Montgomery, or something like that – but immediately wants to spit it out. If this is coffee, he doesn't want to know what battery acid tastes like.

Finally, an hour later, Bob, Martha, and Jim, are out of interrogation. Rick can just see the exhaustion on his mother and Jim's faces.

Raglan pulls Jim aside and whispers something in his ear, something that makes Jim's face darken – not a good sign.

They walk out the door together, and Bob pats Rick on the shoulder. "I'll just send you my bill along with everything else, Ricky. Goodnight, now."

"Thanks, Bob," Rick replies. "You have a good night, too."

As soon as Bob gets into a cab, he turns to the other two. "Let's go home."

xxxxxxxx

Jim ends up coming back to the loft with them, Rick having offered his spare bedroom. Jim refuses at first, of course, but Martha manages to wheedle him into staying with hyperbolic descriptions of Jim's empty old house.

When they arrive, the three of them enter into the loft quietly. Rick quickly pays the sitter, and pours his mother and Jim both cups of hot cocoa, before checking up on Alexis.

She's sleeping, clutching onto her blanket, with a little smile gracing her face. Rick, though tired  
and feeling grouchy, smiles, and closes the door gently.

He joins the others at the table. "I have spare sheets and blankets already set up in the guest bedroom, if you want to head to bed now, Jim."

Jim shakes his head. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight, but thank you, Rick." The gentle man's eyes look more than a bit haunted.

Martha squeezes his hand gently, "I don't think I will, either, tonight. Not after what's happened."

"What did happen, Mother?"

"Martha and I, we were just on our way to pick up Jerry and Anne for our night out to the opera," Jim says, his cocoa trembling in his hand. He gives up trying to drink from it and sets it on the table. "We were just discussing whether or not I should try to get Katie to come home – it's been four months since she moved out – when we saw the open door at Jerry's place."

"You have to know, darling, that the Dunlops' never leave their door open," adds Martha. "The suspicious of everyone type." And then she's in tears, genuine ones, not the fake crocodile tears Rick is used to seeing. Rick offers her a Kleenex. "I'm sorry, kiddo. It's just hard to realize that we'll never see Jerry and Anne again."

"What happened?"Rick prods again.

"We found them in the living room," replies Jim grimly. "Just…dead, on the sofas, with the most horrible expressions on their faces. It was awful."

"We immediately called 911, of course," Martha continues, wringing her hands. "And then that awful Detective Raglan showed up."

"I didn't think I'd have enough bad luck to see that man twice," Jim mutters, shaking his head.

"Twice?" asks Martha.

"…He wouldn't have been the one investigating Johanna's death, would he?" Rick adds on to his mother's question.

"Yes, he was," Jim replies. "That man…there's something about him that rubs me the wrong way."

Rick nods. "I agree... But I don't understand. If you weren't suspects…how did you end up in the precinct?"

"We thought we could leave, when they asked us to come down to the station with them to give them a statement," replies Martha. "And then they shove us into that awful interrogation room! As if we hadn't been through enough!"

"That's odd," muses Rick.

"Odd is right!" exclaims Martha. "Luckily for me, I've read enough of your books to know that I had a phone call. So then we called you, and that we weren't saying another word until we had a lawyer."

Jim is playing with his cocoa, clearly still ill at ease.

"Jim?" inquires Rick. "What did that detective say to you as we were leaving?"

Jim's face turns ashen. "N-N-Nothing."

Rick doesn't push, knowing that both of them are probably still in shock more than anything. The rest of the night is spent in front of the television, as sleep seems to be impossible, at least in the near future.

xxxxxxxx

Rick tucks blankets around Jim and his mother as soon as they fall asleep; he then retreats quietly into his study. There's a story here, something he's missing. Is it too much to chalk up the same man looking into the same family twice as a coincidence?

He's exhausted. Maybe he's turning paranoid, seeing conspiracies where there are none. He hasn't been sleeping well the last while, and his daughter tells him he has funny bags under his eyes every morning. He isn't even sure he recognizes himself in the mirror anymore.

On a whim, he pulls out his makeshift murder board and starts to put up both the Dunlops' and Johanna's murder. Seeing her picture on his board reminds him briefly of his grief, and he is conscious of the fact that though the pain might ease, it would not ever disappear completely, even after all these months.

But for once, he is fine with the realization, and acknowledges that he's finally been able to move on without dismissing the blessing Johanna had been in his life.

His focus snaps back onto the murder board. While he doesn't like Raglan, he also doesn't have proof that he's involved - maybe it just is a coincidence.

_Wait. Why was the detective in the 12th? Johanna's murder... wasn't anywhere near this area of town! Either he didn't belong in the 12th, or he didn't belong in the other precinct in charge of investigating Johanna's murder. _Rick sits on his desk, trying to wrap his mind around the bigger picture. _And what was it that he said that made Jim react the way he did? _

His mind begins whirring, his imagination trying to fill in the blanks. What had Kate said that night? _They said it was just a random mugging. _

And finally, _Even if I do figure out what's going on, where am I going to take this?_

He decides to go to bed and resolves to talk to Jim in the morning.

xxxxxxxx

He wakes up to an armful of Alexis in the morning; sometime during the night she must have crawled into his bed without waking him up. Dr. Connors had told him that though he should try to keep Alexis in her own bed, it was all right if she slept in his bedroom on occasion, but he shouldn't make a habit of it. He extricated his daughter from himself, and began to prep for the day. Usually, he would sleep in, but the occurrences of the day before had lit his curiosity on fire.

He's the first person awake in the house. Jim and his mother are still on the sofa, and he tiptoes into the kitchen quietly to begin breakfast.

Soon, the smells are enough to wake the entire household from their slumber.

He pretends not to see his mother and Jim looking awkwardly at each other and then at him, but he can't ignore his daughter's crying.

He doesn't even make it halfway up the stairs before a little tiny mass propels towards him, nearly sending them both tumbling down the stairs. He can't bring himself to yell, instead, he picks up his daughter, and holds her. "Shhh… I'm still here. Your Papa is here..."

He carries her down the stairs, where fortunately his mother has taken care of the cooking. "Look, Alexis, Grams has your favourite Bunny pancakes for you!"

She peeks her tiny face from out of her hiding place in his chest, and sniffles loudly. Eventually, she nods her agreement to sitting at the table, and Rick wants to tell her she doesn't have school today – but this would probably be entirely counterproductive towards the work Alexis has been doing with Dr. Connors.

The doorbell suddenly goes off, insistently. Rick glances at the clock; barely passed seven – who could it be, at this hour? He peers out the peephole, and is surprised at what he sees.

_Kate_.

He opens the door. "What do you want?"

She pushes past him. "Dad!"

Jim's face lets Rick know that he has no idea she would come, which placates Rick's brief anger.

She throws himself into her father's arms. "Dad, I was so worried when I heard your voice mail! I'm so sorry I wasn't there last night…"

"There, there, Katie-bug." Jim is openly weeping. "It's all right now. Rick got us out of there."

She turns reluctantly towards Rick. "I guess I owe you thanks – again."

He doesn't really hear the words she's spoken, his attention occupied by his daughter, who has by now scooted behind him, hiding. The anger that had been quietened swells again by the tears rolling down his daughter's face.

_That's it_, he thinks, _She's not going to school today._ He cradles his daughter, and casts a baleful look at Kate's direction, before leaving dramatically to his daughter's room.

His daughter is trembling from head to toe. The sheer panic in her eyes is enough to undo him, and her hyperventilation sends him into near panic.

"Breathe, Alexis, breathe," he pleads. "C'mon Pumpkin, breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out." As she hiccups slowly back into normal breathing, he lets out a sigh of relief, "That's it, Pumpkin, that's it."

She won't let go of him, which is probably better for Kate, because he really wants to kill her right now, he thinks.

They sit there for a while, until gradually Alexis falls asleep, exhausted from her ordeal. He tucks her in again, and leaves a kiss on her forehead.

He quietly leaves the room.

xxxxxxxx

She's still there when he comes back into the kitchen.

_She's still here_.

Clenching his fists tightly, he – literally – stalks up to her. "What. The. Hell. Have you done to my daughter?!"

She's afraid. He can see it in her eyes. In the background he can see his mother coming to calm the situation, but surprisingly, it is Jim who pulls her back. Rick's grateful.

"You walk out of her life without so much as a by-your-leave, and then you just come waltzing back in! As if she isn't in enough pain. You know what her therapist said? She's suffering from _Abandoned Child Syndrome_, and she's named _you_ as one of the people who's hurt her. Maybe it's my fault," _for letting you near her_. He pauses, leaving those words unsaid – though it hangs in the air for a bit – but pushes further as a twisted part of him crows at the tears welling in her eyes. "And even if you don't care… Have you seen your father lately? Oh, right, because then you'd know that your little disappearing act has hurt the person who least deserves it. As if your father isn't in enough pain," Rick sneers. "You selfish little – " He shakes his head. "No, you know what? I'm not even going to go there."

She doesn't back down, though her eyes are downcast. "Y-y-you don't know what I've been through."

"No, I don't," Rick says. "And frankly, maybe I would if you had been around – my mother is with your father enough. My daughter loved you. She looked up to you. She _trusted _you. Your father loves you. You walked away from everything because you wouldn't deal with your grief. Because you were selfish enough to think that you were the only one in your grief."

He should feel guilty about tearing into a teenager. Maybe he's too harsh; she's young. What does she know? He certainly didn't know a thing until everything in his life fell apart.

"Have you even told your father about joining the police academy?" He asks, fully exploiting every weak spot. He knows she hasn't told him.

Now she's furious, he can tell. "You have no right – !"

"I didn't think so," he taunts.

"Richard," his mother warns. "That's enough."

"Why, Mother?" he flings back, childishly. "It's all true." But the look on Jim's face makes him want to take it all back.

"Katie…is this true?" Jim is clearly shocked. "Is this true?"

Defeated, Kate hangs her head. "It's true, Daddy. I'm entering the police academy next month."

"Why – " The words won't come out of Jim's mouth.

"So I can find Mom's killer," Kate pleads. "Daddy, just listen, please…"

"… Katie…"

At this point, his mother drags Rick out of the room to give Kate and Jim space, and closes the door to his office firmly behind them.

"Richard Alexander Rodgers." Rick visibly gulps. His mother is _definitely_not happy with him. "I am, very, very disappointed in you."

"Mother…" He feels like a nine year old who has just been dragged off the playground for being naughty. "Did you _see_ Alexis?"

"Yes," she replies, "But I also saw Kate. She's still a child, Richard."

"No, she's an adult," he replies petulantly.

"As are you," she says patiently, tapping a finger on Rick's chest. "And I didn't see two adults in the room back there."

Luckily for Rick, the phone rings right then, saving him from thinking or responding to his mother. He shouldn't answer it, but he does. "Castle household, Rick speaking."

"Richard! It's Stephen," he hears on the other side. "I was wondering if you'd like to play a little poker with us? It'll be a small group, just Patterson, Connelly, and Connelly's new protégé, Walters."

"Sure," replies Rick. "Just let me know when and where."

"Tonight, my place?"

"Sounds great." _Anything to get away from this drama. _"See you tonight."

He hangs up the phone, and looks at his mother guiltily.

"Just think about it, Richard. What if you had lost me when you were nineteen and only starting to find your way around in the world?"

For a writer, he finds himself at a loss for words quite a bit lately.

* * *

**A/N: **Can you believe it's the tenth chapter already? I honestly thought - when I first began this - that I wouldn't make it this far; and we still have a ways to go! I hope you enjoyed this chapter (especially given the extra thousand words this time around!). Unfortunately, due to real life things, I will not be posting for another three weeks (two for my assignments and things, and another week to write Chapter 11). If I have time, I will be posting up the out-takes I promised two chapters ago. All mistakes you find here are mine - I've done some _major_ re-working after receiving the advice my betas gave.

This chapter is dedicated to all of the lovely reviewers I have - I honestly enjoy talking with my reviewers and answering whatever questions you have. And **RobinKate**? An especial thank you goes to you for making my day...honestly, when I received your PM, I may have jumped up and down for joy. So, thank you for your kind words; they are so much appreciated.

As always, please leave me a review. I would love to know what you thought of this chapter, and where you think this story is headed.

Until next time, Ce'Nelenia


	11. Chapter 11: Balance

**A/N: **Please see disclaimer in Chapter 1. I also hold no intellectual properties of James Patterson, Michael Connelly, or Stephen Cannell. Un-beta'd.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Balance**

He's surprised to find the Beckett family still in his kitchen once he's come out of his office, looking fully like a reprimanded toddler as he trails behind his mother.

"Kate, Jim," his mother announces. "Richard has something to say to you both."

"Katie does as well," Jim says firmly, his tone brooking no protest from Kate.

His mother is right, Rick realizes. They are both acting like children.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Rick says, feeling like a three year old who's been caught for the first time with his hand in the cookie jar. "It was immature and beneath me to say those things." Before his mother can reprimand him, he rushes on. "And Kate… I'm sorry… It wasn't my news to tell, and I really have no business telling you what to do or telling your father things about your life."

His mother nods with approval, but he doesn't stop there. "But I don't approve of what you've done to my daughter, just so we're clear."

It's Jim's turn to nod. "Thank you, Rick. Katie, what do you have to say to that?"

She wants to run, Rick can see. She hides between that cold exterior and thinks everyone thinks she's all right. She mutters a quick "Sorry", and then retreats behind her father, moving towards the door.

Rick can tell Jim is upset at Kate's response, but his mother, ever the charmer, pipes in, "Well now, we're all all right again." She beams, and Jim offers back a tentative smile. "Why don't we all go have brunch?"

But Jim shakes his head. "No, that's all right, Martha. Katie and I have things to talk about, and I wouldn't want to intrude."

Martha protests, "But Jim, you wouldn't be intruding at all!"

"Maybe another time, Martha," replies Jim. "But we're still on for the Thursday night game, right?"

"I don't understand why you like baseball, Jim," sighs Martha, but Rick can tell she's only being overdramatic. "But yes, yes, I'll be there."

Rick opens the door, and Jim is out the door first. As Kate leaves, he notices that her eyes are watery, though her face remains impassive. "I am really sorry, you know," she whispers. "And…would you tell Alexis for me?"

Rick makes a noncommittal sound; but then adds, "If you really are sorry, you should tell her yourself. Own up to your mistakes."

He wonders if she's heard him, she's so quickly gone out the door.

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His head isn't in the game tonight, and he can foresee himself losing a lot of money… which, he admits to himself, he can afford. And coming to these things isn't about the money; it's about digging these people's brains for new ideas, for character plausibility, and well, for everything to do with writing, really. These are the best of the best in his field: on his right, Stephen J. Cannell; on his left, James Patterson; in front, Michael Connelly, and to his side, his protégé, Teresa Walters.

Cannell is onto him, he knows; his mentor is probably going to pull him off to the side tonight later when they all go out for drinks (winner buys, thank God). He's got a straight in his hand, but Patterson's eye is twitching; he's got a flush or higher, for sure.

He folds. He doesn't have enough energy to bluff with his usual charming self.

"Ricky, you all right?"

"I know that look," smirks Patterson. "Story trouble."

"No, actually," Rick shakes his head. "Derek Storm is coming along quite nicely. My draft's with Black Pawn already, and it should be out in less than half a year."

"Probably that murder his mother's involved in," quips Walters.

"My mother is _not _involved," replies Rick pointedly. "Could we all stop talking about my personal life and move on with the game?"

Cannell mockingly puts his two arms in the air. "Fine, fine."

Rick doesn't really hear the things they talk about – he's only won a round since they started, having folded most other times. But in the lull in the chatter at the table, he suddenly blurts out, "Say I had three bodies, all interconnected to one family – but it's not a serial killer. But maybe there's a corrupt cop… Never mind."

"That's it?" asks Connelly. "That's a new low, even for you."

"Well, I just haven't wrapped my head around the story," replies Rick distractedly. "But that's literally all I have at the moment."

"I'd point at the corrupt cop being the killer," suggests Walters.

"That's too easy," retorts Patterson. "Where's the twist?"

"I'd say that either one of the victims' family members are the perpetrators," muses Cannell, "Or, they're being targeted somehow."

"Hmm…" Rick ponders for a moment. "Say a member of one victim's family is the perp; what would their motivations be for killing so many people?"

"Revenge?" pipes up Walters again; she seems determined to get her opinion out in the open.

Rick shakes his head again. "No, the original victim had nothing to do with the latter two; revenge wouldn't really play into it, I think."

"I'd say they're trying to distract the police," Patterson muses.

"But what if they're targets? Why would they be killed?" Rick asks.

"Contract killing?" suggests Connelly. "To keep someone quiet about something they've discovered?"

"Or maybe it _is_ a serial killer," says Walters. "One who's more methodical than your usual serial killers and likes obscure connections."

The others all look at her for a minute, and then back at each other.

"I like Connelly's idea," Patterson tosses his two cents in. "What do you think, Ricky?"

"It… fits," Rick admits. "Oh, well, it's not like I'm looking to write that anytime soon."

"Mind if I take some of the ideas?" asks Walters – Rick is sure he wasn't half so bold as a beginning writer.

"No, go for it," Rick replies, after a minute. "So, Patterson, where are you with Alex Cross?"

The rest of the evening is spent bluffing at each other and calling each other piss-poor authors (Cannell may have used… stronger words), and Rick, once his mind is distracted from the things that were plaguing him, is not a bad player, so much so his pocketbook is not much emptier than when he first entered, and perhaps even a tad heavier.

Walters… Walters is interesting, he thinks, as he counts each person's winnings at the end of the night. She's a much better player than her earnings suggest – he knows, because he's been observing her all night. He's pretty sure she's had at least a four-of-a-kind tonight, but folds almost every time. And every time she wins, it's small change – there's no major action, just sheer bad luck on the part of everyone else at the table. Strange. When he was a rookie writer sitting at a table full of these literary – all right, genre – giants, he wanted to impress them straight off the bat. But not only has she not won much, she also hasn't said much of value.

Rick mentally shrugs. It's probably most likely the general populace, and, thus, most people, are less narcissistic about themselves as he is. He grins, and swirls the gin around in his glass before taking a swallow. He jumps slightly at a tap on his shoulder.

"Ricky, Ricky, Ricky…" Rick turns to the wrong side. He hates when Cannell gets the best of him.

"Stephen," he replies evenly, trying not to be irritated.

"Thought I was going to get the best of you tonight," Cannell chuckles. "Turns out I'm the loser instead." (He lost the most, Rick thinks. Or maybe Patterson did. Connelly's too slippery for Rick to really know).

"Well, you know of my ongoing affair with Lady Luck," grins Rick charmingly.

"She's fickle, that one," Cannell shoots back. "I'd be careful, if I were you."

"Is that a threat, Cannell? Want to lose it all again next time we play poker?" Rick challenges, but there's humour in his voice, and the banter leaves nothing but comfortable silence between the two men as they sip their alcohol.

"Ah, Ricky…" Cannell shakes his head with a twinkle in his eye. "How's your mother doing, these days?"

"You know my mother," Rick grins again cheekily. "All drama all the time."

"And Alexis?"

Rick sighs. "Better. Thank God. I love her, but she tires me out all too easily."

"That's the way children are," Cannell remarks. "Cherish'em. You won't have them for long." And Rick knew he was talking about his son who'd passed away, one who'd be about his age now if he'd lived.

He shivers, a sense of foreboding suddenly upon him. He suppresses it with another swallow of gin.

Cannell doesn't notice. "And any future Mrs. Castle?"

"No," Rick replies. "Between my mother and her drama and Alexis, I don't have space in my life for much else besides writing."

"Well, that's a shame," Cannell says, placing his glass down on the counter and looking Rick in the eye, "Because I've got an extra invitation to an event, and I'm told Senator Jason Laurie will be there… and your books are on his reading list."

Castle's heart gives a jump.

xxxxxxxx

He arrives home to find Sophia sitting at the kitchen island, chatting with his mother.

"Darling, why didn't you tell me you'd met this beautiful young woman?" Martha bursts out as he enters through the door. "And not be here when she arrived. Really, Richard."

Sophia, here? In his kitchen?

"Sophia?" he croaks, finally.

"It's not Rick's fault, Mrs. R," Sophia laughs nervously, though Rick senses she is anything but. "I thought I'd surprise him. It's my fault, really."

"Well, I'll leave you two kids to it," Martha announces. "I need my beauty sleep, you know. Not as young as I used to be."

When his mother is out of earshot, the remainder of the sentences fall out of his mouth. "You're… here. In my kitchen. Chatting with my mother."

"She's a lovely woman, Rick," Sophia smiles. "I knew you'd be along in a bit. I just wanted to let you know all the forms have been cleared and you're free to consult. I didn't think you'd want to be knocked out and dragged to headquarters again."

Rick shudders at the unpleasant memory. "No, no, you're right. Thanks for letting me know and letting me shadow you."

"You're quite welcome," she replies. "Now, I better be on my way…"

"Are you sure?" Rick quickly interjects. "I mean, stay for a cup of coffee or tea, at least. It's the least I can do for you since you came all this way to give me the news."

"I couldn't possibly intrude," she protests coyly.

"No, no," Rick insists. "Look, my daughter and mother's in bed. And hey, I can grill you on all the basics while you're here, right? It's a win-win situation."

She leaves shortly before dawn breaks, and Rick is sad to see her go, though he is sure to regret staying up all night talking when his daughter wakes up. "Hey, Sophia…" he says as he opens his door to let her out. "I enjoyed this."

"As did I," she replies, and winks. "I'll see you soon, Richard."

As he closes the door gently behind him, he lets out a deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in. Sinking to the floor, he gazes blankly in front of him, seeing, but not understanding. The past hours – no, days – have been a lot to take in, and he feels the urge to crawl into himself and not come out.

Which, of course, he knows is not the best idea. And he won't, he promises himself.

Maybe it was time for another session. He pulls himself up with the intention of leaving himself a post-it note on his desk to call Dr. Petersen tomorrow, but as he enters his office, his eye catches his murder board, sitting inconspicuously against the right wall.

What had Connelly said? _Contract killing_.

He really needs to ask his mother about the Dunlops' tomorrow, but at the present moment, he needs sleep, something he's reminded of as yet another yawn threatens to overtake him. He slaps a post-it on his desk, and closes the door to his office, lumbering off to bed for precious winks of sleep.

But had he turned around, he might have noticed a small addition to the opposite wall to where the murder board lay, tracking his movements.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay! I managed to catch both the stomach flu and the flu (or so says the doctor, but I still think it was food poisoning) last week, hence the late posting. A belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you!

Just a quick question - did I do something wrong last chapter? Because I received fewer reviews than my usual - where've all of you been? :-) Also, _House of Cards - Addendums_ is up. I've decided that I'd like to take requests for what you'd like to see (more Rick/Alexis interactions? more Alexis/Kate interactions? Alexis/Johanna? Alexis/Martha? Johanna/Jim? Johanna/Kate?). Think of it as a gift for being such an excellent audience.

As always, thank you so much for reading, and please, leave me a review! I do enjoy feedback... and I suspect you have a number of things to ask me about after this chapter ;-)

Until next time, Ce'Nelenia


	12. Chapter 12: Stack

**A/N: See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Unbeta'd, but only because my beta only gets Internet on his porch in -30 weather. **

* * *

**Chapter 12: Stack**

Rick isn't entirely sure he's awake. The screaming bundle on top of him jumping up and down tells him otherwise, but he buries his face in his pillow, wrapping the ends around his head in an effort to block out his daughter's enthusiasm at too-early o' clock.

"Alexis..." he groans, finally lifting his head to glance at his clock. "It's seven a.m. on a Saturday morning. You don't get up this early even for school."

"But Papa," she whines, "Today's the first day of the carnival! Papa, we always go to the carnival!"

Rick immediately perks up, and the sight that greets him melts his heart: Alexis, dressed with her shirt on backwards and Nutella smeared all over her face… and all over his bed. "Oh, really?" He pretends to forget. "I don't remember doing any such thing."

"Papa…" It's Alexis' turn to groan. "If you don't get up now, there'll be so many people and we won't to get to see _everything_!"

"All right, all right," Rick finally chuckles. "But go wash your face first and put your shirt on right. I can't believe Grams didn't help you."

"Oh," Alexis remarks offhandedly. "She's busy with Uncle Jim. And Papa, I'm almost four. That's _old_."

"Err…" he wisely chooses not to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of his mother and Jim and the word "busy", instead saying, "Why, yes, Alexis. But if four is _old_, then your dear old Papa must be a dinosaur!"

And then he pretends to "eat" his daughter with his blankets, Nutella be damned. Alexis shrieks with laughter, and flees the room, yelling, "Grams, Grams, help! Papa's trying to eat me!"

He gently closes the door behind her, and surveys the mess. He strips the sheets off his bed, and throws it all into his hamper – he'll deal with all of it when he comes back from the carnival. Hurriedly, he throws on clothes and makes himself more or less presentable before leaving his room.

Maybe it's for the best Jim is here, he thinks. He can ask about the Dunlops' with both his mother and Jim present –

– That thought stops abruptly as he sees who is in their living room. Jim isn't the only Beckett in the room.

But before he can do anything – or erupt – his mother's stopped him at the door, and points to what Kate is doing in their living room. She's talking in a low voice with Alexis, and his daughter isn't shying away from her. He strains to hear the conversation the two of them are having, but his ears can't pick up any of the words. He decides against pushing past his mother; it looks like his daughter has everything well in hand.

He can feel his mother's arm tighten around his as they both watch Kate help Alexis tidy herself up, and Rick grudgingly feels that maybe, maybe he has misjudged the girl after all. That feeling only solidifies as he sees his daughter smile up at Kate, and reaching for her hand.

And then he hears his daughter say, "Peter Rabbit missed you too, Katie." _Peter Rabbit?_

As he and his mother come out into the kitchen, he makes no indication that he's heard the conversation, and strikes up a general conversation with Jim instead. After they've all – really, just Rick – have had breakfast, they leave for the carnival.

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Rick decides he will never allow his mother to do any event planning ever again, as he sits watching Alexis, Kate, Jim, and his mother on the merry-go-round. It's been awkward all day, and he doesn't feel like his usual sociable self, and maybe, he admits to himself, he's more than a little jealous.

Jealous at Kate, for making Alexis laugh so – how rarely does he see his daughter happy! And for someone who's hurt her – someone, who by all accounts, should make her more upset than happy. And maybe he's a little jealous of Alexis, too, being able to let go of being hurt so easily.

Has his wallowing slowed her progress? He hates feeling like a bad parent, like he's superimposing his feelings on his daughter instead of letting her feel on her own.

He looks at the things they've all accumulated today, and sighs. At least his daughter's having fun. All he has to show for today is a Yogie Bear stuffed animal. He doesn't even like Yogie Bear.

Why can't he be happy? Everyone else is (it's true; everywhere he looks someone is laughing or smiling). Why is he such a downer?

He's got that list Dr. Petersen's made him jot down, the one where he's listed out all the things that make him broken. It's a long list, and every time he looks at it he can't help but feel like it's the end of the world.

But he can't forget that Dr. Petersen wanted him to write something else too: _what is it that you think can make you whole again?_ It's not that he doesn't want to work on it. Far from it – there's a sense of resolution that will come, he thinks, once it's done. But he can't bear to bring himself out of this place; it sucks, but it's comfortable and he _knows _how it feels and what to expect.

He's not used to people bucking the trend – that's what's making him uncomfortable around Alexis' interaction with Kate. In his comfortable place in suck-tastic land, people can't be redeemed and they could never change; he can go on hating them because they're bad.

His breath hitches as he realizes what he's done; he's reduced his world to black and white, a place where someone is either good or evil… the very thing he had told Alexis the world _wasn't_. Where have all his shades of grey gone? Where is his understanding of the human psyche, and his ability to empathize and to step into someone else's shoes? When has he become the sole focus of his own life, his misery his only concern? When has he stopped enjoying life and stopped taking responsibility for his own actions? And how can he hold on to hate when his daughter, who's been hurt far more than he, has let go?

He buries his head in his hands, his eyes burning, shame coursing through his body.

He feels a light hand on his shoulder. Finally, after a moment or two, he looks up, expecting his mother. To his surprise, it's Kate – his mother and Jim are still on the merry-go-round, watching over Alexis and snapping a dozen photos a minute.

His first reaction is to bristle and recoil – to shove off the hand on his shoulder. But he doesn't; he's paralyzed.

"Are you… all right?" he hears her ask, her tone careful.

"Yeah," he replies instinctively, but then shakes his head. "Actually… no. I feel like I should still be in bed, under my covers with the blinds drawn."

It's another moment before she replies. "Look… I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting Alexis, and having you pick up the pieces after my Dad."

He has to think of his reply, no witty repartee coming to mind (And maybe it isn't a time for wit, not right this moment). "I'm still angry about that, you know. You might have screwed Alexis up irreparably."

"But I didn't," she replies quietly. "And, look, I'm sorry, but I really don't think you can base your life on what-ifs or might-haves."

Rick snorts. "No, but I sure as hell can protect my daughter from them."

She shrugs. "That's your choice." She looks him straight in the eye. "Look, I just came over to apologize. I'm not expecting you to be my friend. I just want to set things right because I happen to like your daughter, and my mom always taught me to be responsible for my actions. And I don't want to make things awkward between my dad and your mom, because if you hadn't noticed, they're really good friends. You can take it or leave it, and if you don't want me around Alexis, I'll respect your wishes."

She hops off of the picnic table he's occupying, and makes her way back to join the others, who by now have made their way to the spinning teacups.

Maybe he's the childish one. Damn.

xxxxxxxx

Rick sits alone in the kitchen, nursing a scotch as the other three sit in the living room watching a movie. Alexis is long gone to bed, exhausted by her exciting day at the carnival. Hopefully she'll sleep until an acceptable time tomorrow morning.

He looks up as he hears the sound of muffled steps on his hardwood floor approaches him. _Kate_.

She sits on the bar stool next to him. "Can I join you? Your mother and my dad are about to get into a discussion…" – Rick hears the subtext, 'a heated discussion over the merits of the movie – "And I don't really want to get involved."

He nods, but makes no attempt at a conversation. She pours herself a glass of the scotch, glancing at him to see if he'll refuse her the drink. He doesn't – her dad is here; she's not going to do anything reckless… he hopes, at least.

They sit in silence.

"If you're going to be around my daughter," Rick finally says. "I'm going to have to set some ground rules."

"Fine," she replies.

"If you can…" he eyes her carefully. "I'd like her to see you regularly. I can't have you disappearing on her again."

He's being over-the-top protective, setting standards he knows are unreachable and unreasonable. Why should Kate want to spend time with his daughter? For all he knows, she just plays with Alexis whenever she sees Alexis because his daughter is adorable.

"I'll come with my dad," she answers back; he's surprised.

"And you can't hurt her – " He begins to warn before he's interrupted.

"With all due respect, Mr. Castle," she replies firmly. "I can't promise that. As far as relationships go, I'm old enough to know that people who care about each other hurt each other all the time. Look, I like Alexis. I really do. And I would never willingly hurt her. I-I didn't even know that she thought I'd abandoned her. You might be grieving, but I lost my mother, Castle. Cut me a little slack."

"I don't get it," Rick replies, after a long, awkward wait. "Why do you want to spend so much time with my daughter?"

It's her turn to be silent. "I-I…" she pauses to gather thoughts; it's surprising to him how articulate she is when she gets going. "You know… it's probably because the happiest memories I have of my mother were times when Alexis came over to our house. And I know Alexis looked up to Mom… she used to tell me all the time she missed her own mom and how much she loved mine. And maybe? I'm not sure, Castle, but I feel a little responsible for her. Because we've both lost our moms, and we're both trying to find our way around the world."

Kate smiles, something Rick doesn't recall ever seeing. "And… I," she shrugs. "I want to show her that people can be good. Even if they sometimes do bad things. And _I_ want to know there's still good out there – and Alexis, your kid, she's a good reminder."

He hates feeling speechless.

xxxxxxxx

He manages to catch Jim at the end of the evening. His mother's retired to bed, and Kate's asleep on the couch. He notices Jim looking sadly at his daughter, but decides not to comment.

He doesn't need to. "Katie…" Jim sighs. "She hasn't been able to sleep for months. This is the first time I've seen her this relaxed."

As if she's heard her father, she turns on the sofa, a content smile on her face.

She looks… _young_, Rick thinks. So different from her usual hardened expression, the one he's noticed in recent days – where it seems like she peers into his soul and finds him unworthy. Or perhaps it's simply his literary imagination gone wild, and it's merely the look of someone hiding their grief behind thick, wary walls.

Rick shrugs. "Alexis is the same, though she's bounced back more quickly than I could've imagined."

"At least your daughter still comes running to you," Jim replies softly, his eyes visibly betraying his sadness as he gazes at his daughter. "Mine runs away from me."

"I'm sure she just has to come around," Rick tries to reassure Jim. "I think today's a good indication that that's happening."

Jim nods reluctantly. "I didn't want to see my daughter ever grow up. It feels like just yesterday I was holding her for the first time, and Jo –" He chokes a bit. "Jo just beaming up at me, radiant even after being in labour for ten hours."

Rick smiles at the image that conjures. "That certainly sounds like Johanna."

"I can't believe she's gone," Jim sighs heavily. "And to leave behind such a mess."

"A mess?" Rick asks, his ears perking.

"She'd been having trouble at work," Jim says wearily, a flash of grief crossing his face, and maybe regret? Rick isn't sure. Jim continues, "Someone just called me yesterday for her files, but I've no idea where they are. I told them to back off the case; before she was killed, Jo was sure someone was following her home every night. I told her to call the police, but she just shrugged me off."

At Rick's questioning look, Jim clarifies, "You know, because of what she did – standing up for people who may or may not have been unjustly put behind bars – she wasn't popular with the police."

"That… unfortunately makes sense," Rick responds. "What was it that she was working on that made her…and you so…"

"Paranoid?" Jim finishes wryly. "She was telling me that her newest case – her client was a mobster – might be her biggest one yet. I know she spent the most time in her office those last weeks before she was…killed."

"A mobster?" While Rick was aware of what Johanna did, he hadn't known many details.

Jim nods. "She didn't usually take cases with mob-related ties – she wasn't willing to compromise her morals – but this one caught her attention. She said something about how even mobsters shouldn't be framed for a crime they didn't commit, even if they had once gone astray. Anyway, the weeks leading up to her death she was calling home every night from the office to tell me she was coming home… like she wanted to make sure that someone was keeping track of her. And on top of all of that, Jo is – was – meticulous, but I haven't even found head or tail of her files on this case."

Rick looks at Jim thoughtfully. "You know, Jim… this might be a little off-topic, but what did that detective say to you that day at the police station?"

Rick sits quietly as he sees Jim visibly struggling to decide whether or not he should confide in Rick. He glances around – as if he thinks even Rick's place isn't safe – and in a hushed tone, says, "Raglan," – it takes a moment for Rick to place the name; oh, that sleazy detective - "Said that he knew I knew something, and that it wouldn't be long before he'd find something to get me on."

He pauses. "Which doesn't make any sense. I haven't had any interaction with him other than Jo's investigation… What on earth do I know? What does he think I've done?"

Jim takes a ragged breath. Rick says nothing, waiting for Jim to go on – waiting to see if Jim has anything else to say.

He does. "I suspect Jerry's death has something to do with Jo's death."

Rick murmurs his affirmation. "I've come to that conclusion too; Johanna's death and the Dunlops' deaths are in different areas – it's a hell of a coincidence that Raglan is working this homicide."

Jim shakes his head. "It's not just that," he says, "I noticed Jerry giving me strange looks the past few weeks, but I thought it was because your mother and I spending so much time together. But now that I look back on it, it looked like he wanted to tell me something."

Before Rick can ask about Jim and his mother, Jim is already moving on. "Anyway, the case Jo was working on… she believed there were corrupt cops involved, and possibly corruption all the way to the top."

"And…" Rick taps his chin contemplatively. "If we're right about Raglan, then it very well might be that he's one of the cops Johanna was investigating."

"Possibly one of the people responsible for her death," Jim says quietly, but Rick notices Jim's fists are gripped so tightly together that his knuckles are turning white.

"Are you thinking of getting involved?" Rick asks.

Jim visibly sags. "No. I still have Katie. I won't drag the remainder of my family through this – losing Jo has been far too high a cost."

_But you're already involved_, Rick wants to argue, though he says nothing.

"And Rick?" Jim glances towards the younger man. "You and your mother have been wonderful these past few months. I don't know if I could've gotten through the last bit." He laughs wryly. "No, that's not true; I'm sure I would've been an alcoholic if it weren't for your family." His tone becomes serious again. "Rick, listen to me. I know how much Jo was an influence in your life, how important she became – we became – to you. But Rick, promise me this: don't get involved. My wife wouldn't have wanted you to throw your life away over her death. In fact… she wanted more than anything to see you continue your writing."

With startling clarity, Rick realizes that Johanna's death is no longer just a story to him; he craves justice, where the bad guys get thrown behind bars and a happily-ever-after happens to the protagonists, just like as in his books.

"I… won't," he responds finally. "Jim, I think you and I… we're already involved. Or at least, you're already involved and my mother is as fiercely loyal to her friends as I am to mine. I don't know if we can pull out. Or even if we should. But if we can… and you're asking me to give it up, then I will." His eyes gleam. "But if you _are _involved or if they come after you, then you can bet everything that Mother and I will be behind you."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not sure about this chapter at all. Exploring Rick - especially my increasingly non-canon, more mature Rick - is quite difficult, and I hope I'm striking a good balance with him. We'll see his sense of humour come back soon... likely as he spends more time around his family and Kate! I hope you enjoyed the interaction between Rick and Kate this chapter. Also, if you're wondering, "why on earth is Kate being so mature all of a sudden", I can explore a little bit of that in _Addendums_, if you like. Please leave me a review! Also, the offer still stands - I'd love to write an _Addendum _for you. Cheers, Ce'Nelenia


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